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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/23554183">She is the Sunlight</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/daringlybelieving/pseuds/daringlybelieving'>daringlybelieving</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Call the Midwife</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, F/M, I Don't Even Know, Mutual Pining, Slow Burn, i'm in quarantine and bored, medical dorks in love, no beta we die like men</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-04-09</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-12-12</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-02 17:41:24</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>19</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>36,261</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/23554183</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/daringlybelieving/pseuds/daringlybelieving</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>If someone were to ask when his feelings for Sister Bernadette had morphed from an easy companionship and camaraderie between two colleagues to something more, Patrick wasn’t sure he would be able to provide an answer.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Bernadette | Shelagh Turner/Patrick Turner</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>80</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>86</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. One</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>If someone were to ask when his feelings for Sister Bernadette had morphed from an easy companionship and camaraderie between two colleagues to something more, Patrick wasn’t sure he would be able to provide an answer. He supposed he had always held a passing fascination for the young nun, having worked with her since she had joined the Order as a shy, unassuming postulant, eager to bring some light to the dreary streets of Poplar after the upheaval of the War in any way that she could, even if it only meant holding someone's hand and offering a quiet prayer in their final moments. Even then, he couldn’t pinpoint exactly when this fascination had begun.</p><p>When she had first arrived in Poplar, fresh from training at the London and looking decidedly uncomfortable in her postulants robes, he had wondered what had drawn her to take religious orders. Oh he knew it would undoubtedly be something deeply personal, so much so he was unlikely to ever find the answer, and yet he couldn’t help but wonder. What would drive a young, pretty, idealistic young midwife to join the religious life?  Their first meeting had hardly been remarkable, or even particularly memorable as far as first meetings go, not much more than the offering of a name from Sister Julienne and an exchange of pleasantries from both himself and the young novice in the form of a shy <i>greetings</i> from her and a jolly <i>welcome to Poplar, I’m sure you’ll do splendidly</i> from himself. She had nodded and smiled demurely but avoided his gaze.</p><p>Over her first year in Poplar he had watched her grow in confidence as a member of the Order and as a nurse and midwife under the careful guidance and nurturing gaze of Sister Julienne, leaving behind the timid novice she had been and quickly coming into her own. Her gentle nature and the serene aura she exuded instantly put her patients at ease and, he easily admitted to himself, the effect was not restricted purely to the patients. On more than one occasion he had found himself taking a moment to stop and listen to her gentle voice, offering reassurance to a scared, labouring mother before continuing with the task at hand. </p><p>It was one of her many gifts, he thought. To be able to reassure with only a smile and a few words given in her soft, lilting voice. Paired with her ability to command a room with little effort and her skill and adaptability in the delivery room, she had quickly became one the of the more sought after of her colleagues. It wasn’t long after her arrival at Nonnatus House that the little Scottish nun had been wholly accepted by the community, rarely seeing a day when she was not greeted with a cacophony of shouted good morning’s as she cycled along the cobbles toward whatever the day would bring. </p><p>And yet despite that, it was not hard for him to see why the nun had somehow managed to pass under his radar for the majority of the passing ten years. Not that he ever thought he had taken her presence for granted, but between his careful balancing act of being Poplar’s only GP, maintaining his (at the time) fragile mental health, and attempting to cultivate a life with his wife and son, social interactions with the nuns outside of dealing with patients was a rare occurrence. At least until his wife passed away.</p><p>It didn’t occur to Patrick until the months following Marianne’s death exactly how much he depended on the quiet, steadfast comfort the nuns provided simply with their presence. He was also not ashamed to admit he would not have been able to handle the long period of his wife’s illness without their help. Over the months it had taken the cancer to eaten away at the sunny, warm-heated person that was his wife, Patrick had found himself unable be both her husband and her doctor. The residents of Nonnatus House had taken over the role of caretaker when he could no longer hide the shake in his hands as he went to fill the needle with the morphine that would ease her pain, praying softly to themselves as they worked to keep her comfortable during the drug-fuelled stupors that took up increasing amounts of her waking hours. </p><p>The more he looked back on those months the more he appreciated exactly how much they had done for him and his son. There was rarely a day that had gone by without some form of tureen filled with the mouthwatering labours of Mrs B appearing in the kitchen. The appearance of cake was also a regular occurrence that Timothy had quickly learned to associate with Sister Bernadette’s visits, the sweet treat handed over to the boy with a small smile and a whispered comment about liberating Mrs B’s efforts from Sister Monica Joan. </p><p>It didn’t take Patrick long to notice the care and attention the young nun paid to his son following Marianne’s passing, and he often wondered to himself if that was where it all began. He had often seen her take the time to stop what she was doing to talk to Timothy during times when he had no choice but to accompany his father to Tuesday clinics or to working visits to Nonnatus House, and while seeing his colleagues interacting with his son was nothing unusual, there was something about the way that Sister Bernadette had been able to pull a smile and a sentence longer than five words from the grieving boy that had made him start to take notice of her.</p><p>It wasn’t until his autoclave malfunctioned on the run up to his and Timothy’s first Christmas alone that Patrick finally understood the roots of the budding friendship between his son and the young nun. She had <i>been</i> Timothy. She had been a lonely, grief-stricken little girl trying to muddle her way through life after the death of her mother. The realisation that she had shared something so deeply personal with him, something he was positive was not encouraged by the Order, both shocked him and filled him with a sense of awe and he found himself wondering once again, who was Sister Bernadette.</p><p>That thought alone was enough from him to no longer see her as<i> just</i> as religious sister, and maybe, just maybe, that was where it all started.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>So this is my first CtM fic and lbh it's been a really, really long time since I've written anything. But hey, I'm in quarantine for at least the next 12 weeks and I've been completely obsessed with this show since I had surgery in December and needed something to watch during recovery. I'm aiming this to be quite a long fic (long for me) but chapters may be a bit sporadic as I'm currently having chemotherapy and literally spend 1 week a month under the influence of various drugs (steroids are fun, y'all). But I hope you enjoy it??</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Two</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Patrick bowed his head and let out a long, slow breath, his eyes falling shut as the air filtered out of his lungs. The silence of the room was almost oppressive; heavy and dark and threatening to overwhelm both hum and the other occupant of the room. Beside him, crouched at the side of the blood-soaked bed that dominated the room and was the centre of the deathly quiet, Sister Bernadette’s lips moved silently as she prayed to a God he had long since stopped believing in for the safe journey of the young mother who lay on the bed before them, growing colder with every passing minute.</p><p>A whimper from the large wooden dresser in the corner of the room drew his attention away from the scene in front of him. The little girl nestled safely within the open drawer, swaddled in towels and laid amongst her mother’s clothes, let out a small cry. Her tiny fist flailed in the air; small and pink and so very much alive that Patrick felt he might collapse from the sheer relief of knowing at least one life had been saved.</p><p>The moment was fleeting. He slowly removed his soiled gloves and placed them next to the pile of used instruments that littered the top of a battered leather storage trunk at the foot of the bed. He dragged a shaking hand down his face in a vain attempt to wipe away the weariness that was quickly setting in. There was still much work to be done.</p><p>He waited quietly for Sister Bernadette to finish her prayer, watching as she opened her eyes and smiled sadly at the girl and reached across to move a stray strand of hair from her pale face, gently arranging the tangled golden hair to lie more neatly against the striped pillows. He turned away from her as she moved to surreptitiously wipe a tear from her own face, giving her the privacy to grieve for her patient, if only for a moment.</p><p>“Doctor Turner, would you mind fetching some more water please?” Her voice was serene, betraying little of the hurricane of emotions that he knew she was feeling. He was feeling them too.</p><p>“Yes, yes of course.” He collected the ceramic basin from beside their discarded instruments and made his exit from the room. He closed the door behind him and leaned back against the solid wood, bowing his head as he did so and trying to process all that had happened in the ten minutes he had been inside the small flat.</p><p>The message he had received when he returned to the surgery following the last call on his rounds had made his blood run cold. Tessie Baker had haemorrhaged. Badly. Patrick hadn’t hesitated to turn on his heel with barely a word to his secretary, the tails of his overcoat twisting around his legs as he rushed off in the direction of his car. By the time he had arrived at the old tenement building that Tessie occupied his palms were sweating and he was desperate for a cigarette. There was no sign of the Flying Squad outside of the building and it was all he could do to hope that they had already arrived and taken Mrs Baker to the London.</p><p>His hopes had been dashed when he walked into the second floor flat to find Sister Bernadette gently closing Mrs Baker’s eyes, her hands already crossed delicately upon her still chest. The nun had barely glanced in his direction, instead keeping her attention fixed firmly upon Mrs Baker.</p><p>“The Flying Squad?” He had breathed, eyes scanning the room and taking in the details laid before him.</p><p>Sister Bernadette had sighed and turned to look at him, heartbreak plain for all to see in her blue eyes, “I rang for them over twenty minutes ago.” She had sounded like she had entire weight of the world upon her shoulders. And maybe she had. It had taken all of his willpower to not slam his fist into the door behind him. Instead he had moved further into the room and stood over the sleeping infant in the drawer. The tiny pink bundle looked so innocent and peaceful, completely unaware of the horror that had occurred in the room around her merely moments before. Patrick had never been so grateful, and envious, of a baby and its ignorance as he had left her and carried out the motions of confirming her mothers death.</p><p>It didn’t take long for Patrick to warm some water on the stove and fill the basin but found himself drawing out the time to give Sister Bernadette time to centre herself for the difficult task of cleaning up the room, and to give himself a moment to push away the guilt that was starting to worm its way into his brain. <i>He should have gotten there sooner.</i></p><p>Patrick sighed heavily for what he felt was the hundredth time that day and picked up the bowl of water before making his way back towards the bedroom. When he entered the bedroom he did not expect to find Sister Bernadette facing the window, reverently cradling the newborn and singing softly. He could not make out the words. He set the bowl down on the storage trunk, wincing when the nun startled.</p><p>“She started fussing a moment ago,” she adjusted her hold on the baby as she turned to face him. “The poor wee thing has no idea what’s happened.”</p><p>Patrick nodded and went to stand beside her, “Thank God for small mercies.” The baby squirmed in the young Sisters arms, a small pink arm slipping from beneath the swaddling and flailing in the air. He couldn’t stop himself from capturing the tiny fist in his hand and letting the delicate fingers curl around his own. “I’m sorry I wasn’t here sooner, maybe this could have been prevented.”</p><p>“There was nothing you could have done, it all happened so quickly.” Sister Bernadette peered up at him, sorrow clouding her eyes. “You are a wonderful doctor, but even you can’t be in two places at once.” Patrick tilted his head as he watched her carefully put the baby back into the open drawer, unsure what to say in response, but knowing she was saying it to herself as much as to him. He was saved from having to try when she went and picked up the bowl of water and placed it on top of the dresser. “She needs cleaning.”</p><p>Patrick reached to for a small cloth and dipped it into the warm water, “Here, let me help.” Sister Bernadette gave him a small, tired smile and nodded, picking the baby up once more and carefully unwrapping the towel she was swaddled in. Together they worked to wipe the worst of the blood and amniotic fluid from the girl, Sister Bernadette hushing her with soft murmurs in her lilting voice whenever the baby protested.</p><p>Just as they were finishing and carefully patting the baby dry, a loud knock at the door of the flat pierced the flat. Patrick frowned and dropped the towel onto the top of the dresser.</p><p>“I imagine that’s the Flying Squad.” Sister Bernadette commented as she wrapped the baby in a soft blanket that had been laid out by Tessie before she had arrived. He watched her for a brief moment, appreciating the tireless care and attention she paid to the baby, and he wondered yet again what had drawn her to this life. <i>She would have been a wonderful mother.</i></p><p>Another heavy knock at the door shook him from his thoughts and Patrick forced himself to turn away from the nun and the baby in front of him. There was still work to be done.</p><p>It didn’t take long for Patrick to give a summary of the events to the members of the OFS as he lead them through the flat to the bedroom. Suspected major placental abruption, death confirmed upon arrival, one healthy neonate. The words seemed too hollow and too few to describe what had happened that day and he found himself once again watching Sister Bernadette as she held the baby close to her, gently stroking a finger against the girl’s cheek.</p><p>“Mr Baker is away at sea, I don’t know how we can contact him until he arrives home.” The nun spoke without taking her eyes off the child in her arms. “Mrs Baker has family in Manchester, her mother was due to come visit a week on Monday.”</p><p>Patrick scrubbed his hand through his hair and looked at the obstetrician who was busy examining Tessie Baker’s body. The man grunted and arched an eyebrow at the Sister. “We will take the baby with us and arrange for her to be put into foster care until a family member can take her.” He gestured to the body in front of him. “We will also arrange for a postmortem to confirm cause of death.” He nodded to the midwife that had arrived with him who moved forward to claim the baby from the arms of the nun.</p><p>Sister Bernadette’s forehead crinkled in an almost imperceptible frown, Patrick doubted he would have noticed it if he hadn’t worked with the woman in all manner of stressful situations for ten years. She relinquished her hold on the baby without fuss and took a step back, distancing herself from the girl as much as she could in the cramped room.</p><p>All they could do now was wait for the team to remove the body of their patient. The sombre silence that had been so oppressive earlier returning with a vengeance as the team worked to carefully transfer Tessie Baker to a stretcher and take her down to the ambulance.</p><p>Patrick discreetly watched Sister Bernadette as the team worked. Her hands were clasped together in front of her so tightly he instantly knew it was to hide their shaking. And there was <i>nothing</i> he could do about it. He waited for the OFS to leave before stepping over to her and touching her gently on the shoulder.</p><p>“I am sorry.” He murmured, though he couldn’t say exactly what he was apologising for. For not being there sooner. For not being able to comfort her like he would one of the other nurses if they had been there instead of her. For thinking that way in the first place. She nodded absently and looked over at the now empty bed. Patrick exhaled roughly at the realisation of what had to come next. “I’m afraid I need to go to the hospital with them.” Sister Bernadette didn’t look at him or acknowledge his words. “Would you like me to call someone to come and help? Sister Julienne?”</p><p>Her head whipped up at the sound of her mentors name and she gave that small almost imperceptible frown again. She shook her head and went to start packing away her instruments.</p><p>“No thank you, Doctor.” She gave him a tiny, forced smile. “I can manage on my own.”</p><p>“I have no doubt.” He replied, earning himself another forced smile. He retrieved his stethoscope from the storage trunk and stuff it into his medical bag before snapping it shut and collecting his coat. “I’ll come by Nonnatus with my report later.” He looked around the small room again, the sight of the bloody bed making his stomach clench. He hated the idea of having to leave her to clean away the evidence of what had transpired by herself.</p><p>She didn’t reply but gave him an amicable nod as she continued placing her instruments neatly into her bag in precise, measured movements. Patrick took that as his cue to leave, closing the bedroom door behind him. He had almost made it out of the front door when he heard the muffled sob from the other side of the flat. He closed his eyes, his free hand folding into fist at his side.</p><p>After several long, deep breaths, he forced himself to walk away.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Surprisingly it didn't take me two months to pump out a new chapter, what is this?? Ngl this story will stray into AU territory eventually because gdi I love an AU and fair warning, I also love angst ;)</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Three</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Sister Bernadette peered into the autoclave and let the steam gently brush her face, it was always so cold within the old stone walls of Nonnatus House that even the momentary heat of the steam was pleasant and calming. She usually enjoyed the quiet moments she had to herself while cleaning her equipment, they often gave her the time to reflect and remember the joy of the families she had attended to during the long hours of labour. Today however, that was exactly what was making her feel so wretched. The untimely death of Tessie Baker had been weighing heavily on her mind since she had left the tenement building behind that morning. She had been sorely tempted to take up Doctor Turner’s offer of calling for help to clean up the flat, the idea of one of her fellow midwives offering her their undoubtedly steadfast support as she worked to cleanse the room of the evidence of the traumatic event was almost too much to pass over but the knowledge that her colleagues were all incredibly busy made her refuse. It would not be fair to burden them with more work when she was more than capable of completing the task alone, no matter how emotionally taxing it would be.</p>
<p>It had taken the better part of two hours to clean the room, though half of the time had been spent weeping softly and praying for the poor girl who had never had the chance to meet her daughter, praying for the child who had been whisked off to be placed in foster care to await a time a family member would be willing to take her on until her father returned. <i>If </i>they were willing to take her on. While Sister Bernadette was known as an eternal optimist, she had seen enough of the world to know that sharing blood did not always mean people would be willing to take on the responsibility of a child. She had take time to make sure that everything in the bedroom was back in it’s proper place, as far as she could make it, before taking the bedsheets and doing her best to soak them in a large tin bucket she had found hidden in the kitchen. She had scrubbed at them for the better part of forty minutes, taking her frustration out on the fabrics with a stiff brush before conceding defeat and bundling them up to put in Fred’s burning barrel back at Nonnatus.</p>
<p>Sister Bernadette sighed heavily and turned off the autoclave, the instruments had been in there long enough that they should be properly sterilised, and she was eager to make sure that her bag was set up and ready for her next call-out. She was never able to relax until she knew she was prepared to go again at a moments notice.</p>
<p>“You sound as though you could use some horlicks.” The sound of Doctor Turner’s voice coming from the entrance to the clinical room caused her to jump, the metal clamps she was using to extract her instruments from the autoclave knocked against the side of the metal device with a resounding clang. She had been too lost in her thoughts to hear him approaching. “I’ve heard rumours it’s a Nonnatus House favourite after a stressful day.”</p>
<p>“Oh! Greetings, Doctor Turner.” She gave him a familiar warm smile and set down the clamps, she turned to him fully and tangled her fingers together in front of herself. “Is there anything I can help 

</p>
<p>Patrick held up a file she hadn’t noticed was in his hands, “I’ve brought my report of Mrs Baker’s death, so you can add your notes to it before I take it to the coroner tomorrow afternoon.”</p>
<p>Sister Bernadette frowned and turned her attention back to the autoclave. She had always struggled to hide her emotions, she only wished he wasn’t looking at her with an expression on his face that told her he knew exactly what she was feeling. She wouldn’t have been surprised if he was feeling the same way. Helpless.</p>
<p>“Was it an abruption?” She asked quietly, her fingers twisting together of their own accord. Patrick stepped further into the room and set the file down on the table.</p>
<p>“It hasn’t been confirmed yet but I believe so.” He pulled out his cigarette case and set about lighting one.</p>
<p>Sister Bernadette nodded her understanding and picked up the clamps again. “What about the baby? Has there been any word about her?”</p>
<p>Patrick nodded and took a long drag of his cigarette, savouring the burn of the smoke in his lungs before exhaling slowly. “She was examined not long after we arrived, she’s perfectly healthy. They’re hoping to find a foster family for her within the next few days. She’ll be looked after until we can contact her grandmother.”</p>
<p>The young nun smiled sadly as she pulled the last of her cleaned instruments from the autoclave. “Thank you, I confess I’ve been thinking rather a lot about the poor wee girl since you left this morning.”</p>
<p>Patrick watched the smoke curling from the cigarette held between his fingertips. He had been thinking about the Baker baby too and the image of her being cradled so gently in Sister Bernadette’s arms that morning and the soft, sad smile that had graced the nun’s face as she had calmed the infant was something that had been plaguing him for the majority of the day, and he couldn’t for the life of him think why. He was well aware she was a natural with children, he had seen it many times in the way she interacted with his son and had seen the young Sister with numerous infants before, it came with the job and he couldn’t imagine her doing anything else.</p>
<p>“You know Mrs Baker’s death wasn’t your fault, don’t you?” His voice was gentle, imploring, a tone she had heard many times before in the labour room with both distressed mothers and their panicking husbands and she found herself closing her eyes at the sudden tide of gratefulness that washed over her. “I asked why the Flying Squad took as long as it did to arrive,” He took another heavy drag of his cigarette, “something about engine trouble and having to contact the hospital for another squad to take the call.”</p>
<p>Sister Bernadette swallowed a frustrated groan and reached for the cloth bag that usually held her instruments. “I wondered if I hadn’t called for them soon enough.” She bit her lower lip and held the cloth bag tightly in her fingers, absently playing with the string ties.</p>
<p>“You did everything you could, and I am still <i>so </i>sorry I wasn’t there sooner.” He knew if she looked at him now she would see the mixture of grief and guilt he shared with her painted clearly across his face, but she kept her eyes averted and he found himself strangely mourning that he could not see her face clearly.</p>
<p>“We can not change what has happened, but we will send all our prayers for the child, and pray He sees fit to make her happy.” She spoke with a conviction and a confidence he wish he held. It wasn’t often he envied the nuns their ability to find strength in a higher being but it was days like today which made him wish he had something other than the cold facts of medical science to hold on to.</p>
<p>“Of course.” He smiled ruefully and ground the burnt remains of his cigarette onto the top of his cigarette case. “I’d best leave you to your work, Timothy will be finishing school soon.”</p>
<p>Sister Bernadette smiled at the mention of his son, the warmth of it instantly chasing away some of the melancholy that had been following him all day and he absently thought he would do anything to see it again. The thought startled him. “I’ll have my notes ready for tomorrow morning.” She stepped closer to him and scooped the file off the table. “Be sure to give Timothy my best.”</p>
<p>“I will, thank you. Have a good evening, Sister.” She smiled that lovely warm smile again and he thought that everything would okay.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Here have some trash I threw together at 3am welp</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Four</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>It was empty in the chapel. Sister Bernadette supposed that was when she liked it the most, when she could surround herself with the calmness that came from voicing her prayers while the sunlight cast rainbows through the stained glass of the windows. It wasn’t often that she had the time to visit the chapel alone, more often than not during the busy schedule of her day the only time she was able to visit was with her Sisters as they observed their daily offices, their voices raising the plainsong that she had come to love so much over her years with the Order. Recently though, she had found herself making more of an effort to attend during her downtime. Tessie Baker’s death had shaken her, that much was she could readily admit to herself, it had been a long time since a mother in her care had passed away and though she knew there was nothing she could have done short of conjure a miracle, the thought of failing the Baker family had been plaguing her, and, she thought, she wasn’t the only one.</p><p>She had seen it over the past week, the way Doctor Turner had pushed himself with the introduction of the new gas and air contraption that had all of Poplar’s soon-to-be mothers in a tizzy, attending any and all calls without the slightest hesitation. Sister Evangelina was correct, he was beginning to run himself ragged in his desperation to prove the benefits of the new analgesic and bring some relief to their labouring mothers. She wondered if this was his idea of penance, working himself into the ground to make amends for being unable to attend to Mrs Baker. She wouldn’t have blamed him, in her own way she had been doing the same.</p><p>She couldn’t help feeling guilty for her part in Doctor Turner’s work related downward spiral, she had fiercely agreed with his opinions on the gas and air and had called him out to a number of cases herself when the mother had demanded more pain relief. Perhaps she had given in more easily than she would have under normal circumstances, but the small smiles the doctor had given her after the gas had begun to take effect had done little to discourage her. If anything the warmth on his face as he had looked at her had reminded her why she had chosen midwifery as her vocation; there was something so thrilling about being able to help people, and, she thought, something equally thrilling in being able to share that experience with someone.</p><p>She wondered if that shared sense of camaraderie was why she had snapped at Nurse Franklin over luncheon earlier that afternoon. Her reaction to Trixie’s words had shocked even herself, and though she had been quick to change the subject she had seen the puzzled looks on the faces of her colleagues. While it wasn’t unusual for her to scold the nurses, more often than not playfully, she had never before done it in such a way as to draw such attention to herself. Maybe she was being irrational, the emotions of the last week making her act out of sorts, but she couldn’t help but feeling irritated at the way the nurses had been gossiping about Doctor Turner and Timothy.</p><p>She knew from experience that he was doing the best he could to adapt to being a single father and a doctor. She had seen it herself in her own father after her mother had passed. Her father had been the same, completely lost and unsure of how to handle her on his own after her mother had died. He had always been so focussed on his grocery stall, doing everything he could to make sure that she and her mother were provided for and in their busy market town business had been brisk. Her father had doted on her of course, the same as she knew that Doctor Turner doted on Timothy, but it was never the same after her mother had died. Their relationship had become strained, and though she knew he had done everything he could for her, even encouraging her to move to London for nursing school when she was old enough to apply and had expressed a desire to do so, he had never quite managed to adjust to her mothers absence. Men of her father’s generation weren’t exactly what she would call adept at home-making.</p><p>She had been both amused and saddened when Doctor Turner had confided in her his lack of culinary skills and Timothy’s preference for fish and chips over his cooking. It hadn’t surprised her in the least that the Doctor couldn’t call himself proficient in the kitchen, few men were, but she had found herself glad of his honesty. It wasn’t often people were so willing to admit their own shortcomings and she admired that in him. He was trying, and in her mind that alone was deserving of more respect than being the object of gossip by the sometimes catty nurses.</p><p>She briefly wondered if she ought to apologise to the nurses. She hadn’t intended to be as sharp as she had been, it wasn’t in her nature, though the idea of drawing more attention to her unplanned outburst was not something she was entirely sure she was willing to do. If she was lucky they had forgotten about it already, after all, it wasn’t unusual for disagreements to form among the women, it was something that couldn’t be helped with them living in such close quarters, the somewhat tumultuous relationship between Sister Evangelina and Sister Monica Joan was proof enough of that.</p><p>No, she would leave it be. She likely wouldn’t see the nurses again until evening meal as it was and by then all would certainly be forgotten.</p><p>She raised her face towards the sunlight pouring in through the windows and closed her eyes, letting the warmth seep into her skin. It wouldn’t be long before one of her Sisters sought her out to call her to recreation hour before evening rounds began, she had best enjoy the quiet while she could. The next few days would undoubtedly be just as busy as the ones that had already passed. News of the wonders of gas and air had already spread like wildfire thanks to the loud endorsements of Bella Collins and convincing her patients that <em>yes</em> they were doing just fine without it and <em>no</em> they did not need to bother Doctor Turner was likely to be exhausting.</p><p>And on top of the usual weekly duties she had finally given in to Sister Evangelina’s demands that she get her eyes checked and made herself an appointment for the following afternoon. Sister Bernadette pulled the small round frames off her face gently and examined them closely. She wouldn’t admit her small lapse in vanity to anyone but the idea of potentially getting new glasses excited her. It had been so long since she had anything new to call her own that wouldn’t violate her vow of poverty and she had often wondered what it would be like to have a pair that were more flattering.</p><p>She could almost see it. The nurses would giggle and gush and shower her with compliments as they would if one of them had bought a new dress or had their hair done and just for a moment she would fit in. She frowned to herself and pushed the glasses back into place.</p><p>The chapel was no place to entertain those thoughts.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>My treatment session really kicked my ass this week so I have no idea what this is or if it even makes sense, welp. Have it anyway :') But hey how cute were Laura, Stephen, and Max in the CtM aftershow last week?? Friendship goals lbh.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. Five</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Timothy was laughing. He could clearly hear the precious sound echoing down the cavernous hallways of Nonnatus House. That sound alone was enough to light up his day, instantly wiping away the days frustration of uncooperative patients and the continuing despair he felt at the unsanitary living conditions many of them had to live in. The sound reached him again and he smiled widely, glancing over his shoulder in it’s direction as he stood just inside the doorway of the old building though he knew he wouldn’t be able to see his son, though he wouldn’t be surprised if he had been whisked off in search of cake or biscuits by the otherworldly Sister Monica Joan for one last treat before he went home after spending the morning with the Sisters while Patrick attended a meeting.</p><p>He didn’t hear his son laugh often enough, lord knew he was rarely the reason for such a reaction, but every time he heard the high-pitched giggling he knew that his son was going to be just fine. Sister Bernadette had been right, children really were resilient. It had been hard for Timothy to adjust after Marianne had passed away, hard for both of them really. Patrick had known it was inevitable and done his best to prepare Timothy but all the preparation in the world would never have been enough for the reality of losing his mother at such a young age.</p><p>The first few months had been a struggle as they had tried to find their new normal. An endless stream of locums, sleepless nights, tears and temper tantrums (from both himself and Timothy), and fish and chip dinners had paved the way to a tentative new bachelor lifestyle. Eventually, with the invaluable help of the Sisters and Mrs Penney, he and Tim had managed to settle into a new routine that had allowed Patrick to return to full-time work hours much to his son’s loudly voiced displeasure. Patrick would never get used to the stabbing guilt that swept through him any time Timothy used his working hours as ammunition against him. He knew that as a single parent his job with it’s unpredictable and often long working hours was not ideal but it was his life; he lived and breathed to help others and if serving as Poplar’s GP, with it’s war-ravaged streets and pitiful overcrowded housing that acted as a breeding ground for communicable diseases, was the best way that he could use his skills and provide a stable home for Timothy then that was how it was going to be, and all he could do was hope that one day Tim would come to appreciate that.</p><p>Sister Julienne was smiling serenely when he turned his attention back to her, a glimmer in her eye that spoke volumes of her amusement and joy at hearing his son’s happiness herself. He knew she was fond of Timothy, as they all were at Nonnatus House, Sister Evangelina especially having a soft spot for the youngest Turner though she would never admit to such a thing aloud.</p><p>“Thank you for watching Timothy, I hope he hasn’t been any trouble today.” He knew the answer already. Timothy was many things; overly curious, cheeky, and rambunctious among other things, but a troublemaker he was not.</p><p>Sister Julienne inclined her head the smallest amount in acknowledgement of his thanks and gestured for him to follow her further towards the parlour. “No thanks are necessary Doctor, he has rather made our morning,” She shot him a small smirk, “Sister Monica Joan has especially enjoyed Timothy’s company.”</p><p>Patrick chuckled, Sister Monica Joan’s childlike spirit came to life in the presence of children. With the elderly nun’s senility making it impossible for her to maintain her role as a midwife in the community and her attention span leaving something to be desired, he knew the Sister’s were finding it harder and harder to keep her occupied. He remembered Sister Bernadette once telling him they weren’t entirely sure whether she was senile or wilfully eccentric; experience and a better understanding of the old woman now told him it was both.</p><p>They stepped into the parlour just as he was forming a reply and Patrick found the words immediately flee from his mind and his heart clench in the most peculiar way as he took in the scene before him. Timothy and Sister Bernadette knelt on the floor in front of a low table, countless pieces of paper and coloured pencils lay scattered carelessly on both the floor and any available flat surface within reach, their heads bent low over their creations so close together their foreheads were nearly touching. Timothy was chattering away, words that Patrick was unable to process as he watched the young Sister laugh at something his son was saying.</p><p>He distantly registered Sister Julienne say something about tea before she swept off in what he presumed was the direction of the kitchen, leaving him frozen in the doorway of parlour. Tim and Sister Bernadette both straightened at the sound of Sister Julienne’s voice and Tim’s head whipped around so he could look at his father and grin widely.</p><p>“Dad!” He scrambled off the floor and grabbed some of the sheets of paper off the table before lurching over to his stunned father. “Sister Bernadette was showing me how to draw people, look!” He thrust the papers at his father, practically vibrating in his excitement. “Sister Bernadette drew these, she’s really good!”</p><p>Patrick quickly took the papers from his son before they got crumpled in Timothy’s attempts to push them into his hands. He turned the papers the correct way around and leafed through them, his astonishment growing as he looked at them. The drawings were simply done, the main focuses being on the faces of the subject with the rest of the details being quick and sketchy, but they were beautiful. It took Patrick a moment in his shock to recognise the faces in front of him; Sisters Monica Joan and Julienne, their faces looking downward as they worked on something in their hands that he couldn’t make out, a softly smiling Cynthia adjusting the nurses hat on her head, and the last one, the most detailed of all of them, was of Timothy with a wide smile on his face as he worked on a picture of his own.</p><p>Patrick looked across at Sister Bernadette, positive the awe he felt was displayed on his face for all to see. She was watching him intently, a blush dusting her cheeks and her lower lip caught anxiously between her teeth. “They’re wonderful, Sister.” His voice was soft and he could have sworn her blush deepened further.</p><p>She turned her attention back to the table and began gathering the rest of the papers and the pencils together into neat piles. “Oh, I don’t know about that.” The words came out in an embarrassed half laugh, her accent thicker than he was used to hearing and elongating the vowels more than normal.</p><p>“Well I do.” He replied firmly. She glanced back at him, her eyebrow raised the slightest amount and a tiny smile tugging at her lips. “Would you mind if I kept this?” He held the picture of Timothy up so she could see which one he was referring to.</p><p>She pulled herself off the floor, taking a moment to straighten and dust off her habit, “Of course you may.” She gathered up the mass of papers and gestured for Timothy to take them off her. “Timothy is becoming quite the artist himself.” She smiled indulgently as Timothy grinned at her and took his own pictures from her outstretched hands.</p><p>“Mine aren’t that good.” Timothy commented nonchalantly, shrugging his shoulders and tucking the papers away into his jacket before Patrick could see them.</p><p>Sister Bernadette laughed and reached out to gently squeeze his shoulder. “Remember what I said? It’s like your playing the piano. The more you practice, the better you’ll be.” Timothy nodded happily and turned back to his father.</p><p>“Do we need to leave now?” He tilted his head in a gesture that reminded Patrick of a puppy.</p><p>Patrick dug his hands into his trouser pockets and levelled his son with an amused look. “Do I not get to see your pictures first?”</p><p>Timothy shook his head violently, making his dark hair flop into his eyes in a way that Patrick was all too familiar with. “Nope, I told you, they aren’t that good.” His tone told him that Patrick should have thought that answer was the most obvious thing in the world.</p><p>“Well, we can’t leave until you say thank you to the Sisters for having you today.” Patrick dipped his head and almost laughed at the self-chastising look at flashed over Timothy’s face as he remembered his manners. A quick glance over Tim’s shoulder showed him Sister Bernadette smiling fondly as if she had realised the same thing.</p><p>Tim whirled around to the Sister behind him and practically launched himself at her, ignoring Patrick’s quick “Careful, Tim!” as he moved to wrap his arms around her waist. Sister Bernadette’s smile widened even further and she wrapped an arm around the boys shoulders to give him a quick squeeze in return. Patrick felt his heart clench in that peculiar way again as he watched them.</p><p>“Thank you, Sister Bernadette!” He let go of her almost as quickly and all but ran towards the door in search of the next subject of his affections.</p><p>Sister Bernadette laughed at the his antics, completely unconcerned by the fact he had been hugging her only seconds before. “You’re very welcome, Timothy. I believe Sister Monica Joan went to the garden if you want to say goodbye to her.”</p><p>Timothy beamed and skidded off down the hall, leaving Patrick alone with the young nun. She seemed unsure of what to do with herself now that her charge had disappeared and the room had been tidied back to it’s original state. She wrapped her hands together in front of her in what Patrick had come to recognise as nervousness and he briefly wondered why she would feel that way around him.</p><p>“Did your meeting go well, Doctor?” She enquired, with Timothy no longer in the room to take the focus of their attention, work seemed an easy and safe topic to broach.</p><p>“As well as a meeting with the Board of Health can go, I suppose.” Patrick looked again at the drawing in his hands and smiled. “Thank you again, for this, and for looking after Timothy.”</p><p>The faint pink tinge that had delicately covered her cheeks not too long ago returned and Patrick couldn’t help but smile warmly at her. It was really quite charming, he thought.</p><p>“Oh it’s no trouble, he’s a wonderful boy, Doctor.” Her words were full of honesty and, he wasn’t sure if he was imagining it, love. Though of course it wasn’t difficult for anyone to fall in love with Timothy, and she was after all, human.</p><p>“I couldn’t agree more.” He laughed and shrugged. “Though I may be biased.”</p><p>Sister Bernadette joined his laughter with a small tinkling laugh of her own that Patrick absently thought as charming as her delicate blushes. The thought stunned him.</p><p>He could have thanked whomever was obviously looking over him in that moment and stopping him from making a fool in front of himself like a silly school boy, in front of a <em>nun</em> no less, when Sister Julienne breeze past him and back into the room holding a tray with a steaming teapot and three cups and saucers, complete with a small plate of biscuits.</p><p>“Would you like some tea before you leave, Doctor?” She asked politely, setting the tray down on the table that had been covered with Timothy and Sister Bernadette’s artistic efforts and starting to put together the makings of tea for herself and her Sister, pausing before pouring a third cup and looking at him expectantly.</p><p>Patrick shook himself out of his idiotic stupor and smiled at the Sister apologetically. “I’m afraid I can’t, Sister, though thank you for the offer. I have to get Tim home and ready for cubs before I head off for my rounds.”</p><p>Sister Julienne smiled in understanding and set the teapot back onto the tray. “Of course, there’s no rest for the wicked, as they say.”</p><p>Patrick nodded and glanced over his shoulder at the sound of familiar footsteps hurtling down the hallway towards them. He took a step backwards out of the room and fixed Tim with a look that had the boy immediately stop running and wincing sheepishly.</p><p>“Did you find Sister Monica Joan?”</p><p>Tim nodded vigorously and shuffled over to his father. “Yes, she was in the garden like Sister Bernadette said.”</p><p>Patrick side-stepped out of the way and motioned for Tim to come closer, “Good lad.” He turned his attention back to the Sisters in the parlour and smiled gratefully to them, pulling Tim closer as he did so. “I’m afraid we need to be off now Sisters, thank you again.” He looked down at Tim expectantly.</p><p>Tim puffed out his chest and straightened his back. “Goodbye, Sister Julienne, goodbye, Sister Bernadette.” He said, doing his best to imitate his father’s formal tone. Patrick raised an amused eyebrow and rolled his eyes at the two nuns. Behind Sister Julienne’s shoulder he saw Sister Bernadette making a valiant attempt at withholding another laugh.</p><p>Sister Julienne made no such attempts and chuckled brightly. “Goodbye Timothy, I’m sure we’ll see you again soon.”</p><p>Timothy nodded and gave them a cheeky grin before dashing off in the direction of the front door, forcing Patrick to give the two nuns a small goodbye wave and follow.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>I wanted to get in some Patrick seeing Tim/Bernadette interacting and it occurred to me that Shelagh is an artist and we very very rarely see it. I need more of that in my life okay so basically this chapter is me being self indulgent (quarantine self care okay).</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0006"><h2>6. Six</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Patrick admired the drawing of Timothy for what felt like the hundredth time, and maybe it was. He couldn’t say why but he had taken to keeping the picture in the pocket of his medical coat like a talisman and he had quickly lost count of the number of times he had pulled it from the confines of his pocket during the lull that came between patients. It had been a surprisingly slow clinic day, an occurrence so rare that the midwives didn’t know what to do with themselves after the initial rush had passed. Trixie and Jenny had taken to loitering around an empty examination table gushing over what he presumed was the latest fashion magazine, Cynthia was doing her best to keep herself busy by tidying toy corner for what he believed was the third time in the past hour while Chummy had the good fortune of actually having a patient to examine (having practically pounced on the poor woman the moment she had walked in the door).</p>
<p>He had found himself alone in the small kitchen waiting for the kettle to boil for a much needed cup of tea when his hand had absently strayed to his pocket in search of his cigarettes and lighter. Instead he had found the drawing, his fingertips tugging it free from the confines of his pocket before he even realised what he was doing. The paper was creased from the repeated folding and unfolding, something he sorely regretted, though he had used his paper-folding skills to make sure the creases would mar the portrait as little as possible. As he looked at the piece of paper in his hands, tracing the confident pencil lines with his eyes, his heart warmed at the care that had gone into the picture and he smiled gently at the likeness of his son’s grinning face.</p>
<p>The kettle whistled shrilly and Patrick forced his attention away from the paper. He folded it reverently and returned it to it’s home in his coat pocket. He retrieved his cigarette case and lighter and set it on the serving window counter ready for when he had his tea. The curtain covering the kitchen doorway parted and Nurse Franklin breezed into the room, her gold curls swinging gently across her shoulders. He hadn’t even noticed her leave Jenny and head his way. She smiled warmly at him on her way past him and grabbed the still whistling kettle from the stove.</p>
<p>“That piece of paper must have been awfully interesting, Doctor.” She gave him a teasing smile and set the kettle aside while she began gathering teacups. “I don’t suppose it’s a letter from some lady love you’ve neglected to mention?”</p>
<p>Patrick scoffed and shook his head, “Nothing so exciting I’m afraid, Nurse Franklin.” He picked up his cigarette case and extracted one, tapping it on the top of the case before lighting it.</p>
<p>Trixie gave an exaggerated sigh and poured tea into each of the teacups she had gathered, “Shame, and here I was hoping for gossip of a grand romance to keep us entertained for the rest of clinic.”</p>
<p>“In that case I’m sorry to disappoint.” Patrick took a long drag of his cigarette, holding the smoke in his lungs and savouring the gentle burn before releasing it slowly. Trixie handed a teacup to him and joined him leaning against the serving window.</p>
<p>“Oh well, I shall have to be content with whatever salacious details Chummy throws our way.” She grinned wickedly, seemingly oblivious to the way Patrick choked slightly as he inhaled the next draw from his cigarette. “Today has been an absolute bore.” She sighed and took a sip of her own tea.</p>
<p>“I’m sure helping me to fold these nappies will take your mind of your boredom, Nurse Franklin.” Sister Bernadette’s lilting voice floated through the serving window as she appeared on the other side of it, a pile of nappies in her hands and an expectant look on her face.</p>
<p>Trixie huffed and set her teacup down, “I would be positively <em>thrilled</em>, Sister.” Her tone suggested she was any but.</p>
<p>Sister Bernadette placed the nappies on the counter and began to expertly fold them. Patrick watched, oddly fascinated as she manipulated the awkwardly shaped piece of flannel into a neat square within seconds and reached for another. Trixie followed her example though Patrick couldn’t help but notice she was considerably slower, having to stop and begin again before she got the desired result.</p>
<p>“I was just saying to Doctor Turner how terribly short of interesting news we are,” She paused and took a quick sip of her tea before reaching for another nappy. “The closest we have is you finally ending your relationship with those dreadful round specs!”</p>
<p>Patrick glanced up at Sister Bernadette. That charming blush had worked it’s way across her cheeks again. She kept her eyes focussed on her task, folding the nappies in quick precise movements. He took the opportunity to discretely study her new glasses. When he had entered the Parish Hall earlier that afternoon Sister Bernadette had been standing at the weighing station gently placing a newborn on the scales and smiling warmly at the mother. She had quickly glanced up at him as he had swept past and he had embarrassingly almost tripped over his own feet when he noticed the new glasses perched elegantly upon her nose. That was something he had definitely <em>not</em> been expecting. He had known her fellow Sisters had been nagging her for weeks to go and get her eyes seen to, he had even noticed her squinting slightly himself and had vehemently agreed with Sister Evangelina when she had huffed at her younger Sister in his presence and muttered something about nurses being terrible at taking care of their own health before flouncing off to gripe at one of the younger nurses. For some inexplicable reason it hadn’t occurred to him at all that she would change her glasses, she had had the same pair of little round glasses for as long as he had known her, they had practically become a trademark of hers, and to see her without them had been something of a shock to the system. A small part of his brain had even gone so far to say it was a pleasant shock. As he studied them now, that same treacherous part of his brain clawed its way to the forefront. <em>She was stunning.</em> Not that she hadn’t been pretty before, with her delicate features, charming blushes, and impossibly blue eyes, but he wasn’t sure he had noticed exactly <em>how </em>pretty she was.</p>
<p>
  <em>Stop it man!</em>
</p>
<p>Patrick mentally berated himself and tore his eyes away from the nun in front of him, swallowing thickly as he took another drag of his nearly burnt out cigarette. As he took the burning smoke into his lungs he absently wondered if it could be considered blasphemous for a man who held no faith to think of a woman of the Order as impossibly beautiful. He frowned and pinched the bridge of his nose. <em>Where had that come from?</em></p>
<p>“I hardly think updating one’s prescription counts as a break-up, Trixie.” There was a smile in Sister Bernadette’s voice and he risked another glance up. She was watching the young nurse fondly even as her hands continued to make tidy squares out of the flannel.</p>
<p>“And that’s exactly my point!” Trixie whined, her fingers tightening around the flannel in her hand. “We haven’t had any excitement in weeks.”</p>
<p>Sister Bernadette suppressed a snort at Trixie’s petulant tone and grabbed for the flannel that Trixie was absent-mindedly twisting in her hands. She neatly smoothed out the creases she had made and quickly folded it and set it with the rest.</p>
<p>“I happen to think our lives are exciting enough without all drama you girls conjure up.” Sister Bernadette smiled kindly at the nurse and gathered the pile of neatly folded nappies into her arms.</p>
<p>“Come now, Sister, you and I both know you’re just as partial to gossip as I am.” Trixie tilted her head to the side and shot her a slow, sly smile. Patrick watched the exchange with increasing interest. He was fully aware of Trixie’s propensity for gossip, particularly of the romantic persuasion. She lived for romance and it was common knowledge she loved the idea of being in love just as equally as she loved the idea of her friends being in love. It had never crossed Patrick’s mind that the little Scottish nun would possibly join her younger colleagues in their antics, it seemed so at odds with the quiet, disciplined nature she presented to those outside of the convent, though it struck him she was closer in ages to the nurses than she was with her sisters, was it so unlikely for her to enjoy the same simple pleasures that came with being young? She was human after all. It was strange to think they had known each other for nearing ten years and were still little more than acquaintances, he knew so little about her.</p>
<p>Sister Bernadette’s smile turned impish as she turned away, “I’m sure I don’t know what you’re talking about.” She called over her shoulder as she left a bewildered Patrick and a giggling Trixie behind.</p>
<p>“My goodness, Doctor, you look positively scandalised!”</p>
<p>Patrick chuckled and picked up his neglected teacup, bringing it to his lips as he contemplated how to to answer the nurse. He drained the cup quickly, doing his best to ignore Trixie’s amused, tittering laugh.</p>
<p>“You learn new things about people every day.” He said carefully, taking his teacup over to the sink and placing it inside the basin.</p>
<p>Trixie copied him with her own teacup, grinning like a Cheshire cat. “Our Sister Bernadette is quite the dark horse.” She sauntered off before Patrick at a chance to react to her comment, leaving him with eyebrows raised and wishing she would tell him more. <em>He wanted to know more about the mysterious little nun.</em></p>
<p>“Yes, I’m starting get that impression.” He smiled to himself and slipped his hand into his pocket, gently touching the piece of paper that rested there.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0007"><h2>7. Seven</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Sister Bernadette stared at the slightly crumpled, but very familiar piece of paper in her hands. She hadn’t meant to look at it when it had dropped out of Doctor Turner’s pocket while she was fixing the button back onto his white medical coat, she had fully intended to put it aside until she had finished and then return it to it’s home before she left for the evening. It was only when she had picked it up off the floor that she noticed the familiar lines through the thin paper. Curiosity had gotten the better of her, surely it wasn’t the drawing she had done days before? As she had carefully unfolded it and spread it out upon the white coat her eyes had widened and her mouth had dried at the realisation that it was indeed her drawing.</p><p>She let her fingers gently caress the worn folds, the crispness of the paper long gone along those lines, a tell-tale sign that it had been folded and unfolded multiple times. Sister Bernadette smiled softly to herself, she hadn’t expected the doctor to be sentimental about a drawing of all things.</p><p>
  <em>He does love Timothy dearly.</em>
</p><p>Shaking herself, she set the portrait aside and retrieved her needle and thread, stalwartly ignoring the warmth that had settled into the pit of her stomach. <em>This button won’t fix itself. </em>As the most senior midwife in the clinic that day, she had taken the opportunity to allow the nurses to leave as soon as their last patient left, telling them (and herself) that they could use the extra time before their evening rounds for some much needed recreation, regardless of how quiet the clinic had been that day, and she would finish the cleaning up. Not that there was much to do, the nurses had taken to washing up as they went in an attempt to keep their boredom at day, and she had never seen toy corner so tidy after Cynthia had spent the better part of an hour reorganising it.</p><p>Doctor Turner had left not long after the nurses, depositing his coat onto the hooks in the kitchen and giving her a weary but cheerful lopsided smile in farewell before he had left to begin his own evening rounds. She let a small sigh escape her as she thought of his slumped shoulders as he left the hall, the poor man worked far too hard; even on a slow day such as this one had been, she had seen the him rushing between patients and the booking-in table, grabbing folders and retreating to the kitchen to scribble notes and write prescriptions before moving on to the next one. When she had found him secreted away in the kitchen with Trixie she was glad to see him taking a moment to himself; knowing him as she did, it was probably the first proper rest he had taken all day.</p><p>Fixing this button for him was the least she could do for all the care and hard work he put into everything he did for their community without ever asking for anything in return, something she admired him greatly for. It wouldn’t do to let him look anything but his best professional self if she were in a position to help, which in this instance she was. Especially after the comments Trixie and Cynthia had made. It was such a small gesture, one that he would never know she had made and likely wouldn’t notice had been made at all. She wondered if he had even noticed the button’s absence. It was such a small thing, easily missed in the busy day to day that was their lives.</p><p>She tied off the cotton and neatly cut the excess. <em>There.</em> Securing the needle in the spool of thread she set it aside, freeing her hands to hold up the coat to check the placement of the button. <em>Perfect. </em>She quickly checked the rest of the buttons to ensure none would come loose anytime in the future and found them all securely attached. With luck they would last for a long while. Smiling at her handiwork, she retrieved the picture from it’s resting place and carefully refolded it and returned it to it’s home. The fact that it was there at all was still a curiosity.</p><p>Hanging the coat back on it’s rack, she cast another look around the small kitchen to ensure everything was neatly tidied away. Seeing nothing that needed her attention she pulled on her own coat and made her way out of the Parish Hall, if she hurried she would be back at Nonnatus in time for Vespers. She adored the plainsong that formed the centre of their religious devotions. There was something uplifting about raising her voice along with her sisters, the prayers and Psalms they sang acting as vessels for all their hopes, their dreams, their blessings, and their troubles; everything was poured into the music, allowing them to float away like blossom petals on a stream. It was comforting in a way she had never known before she had joined the Order.</p><p>Retrieving her bicycle from where it was leant carefully against wall outside of the entrance to the Parish Hall, she found that her hopes for making it home for Vespers were to be dashed. The front tyre was flat. Sister Bernadette frowned and prodded the tyre, it had been perfectly fine that morning. There was nothing for it, she would have to walk, not that she particularly minded. She secured her bag and began pushing the bicycle down the familiar streets towards Leyland Street.</p><p>There was something about Poplar in the evening that she found quite appealing. During the day it was a constant orchestra of noise; children shouting and laughing as they played in the streets, women chattering and calling to each other as they went about their daily chores, market costers doing their best to shout louder than their competition as they went about trying to sell their wares. In the evening though, it was as though a quiet washed through the streets like the tide; men returned home from their gruelling work at the docks, children were called inside for their suppers, those that were left to wander the streets kept to themselves. Sister Bernadette enjoyed being able to see Poplar in it’s peaceful, sleepy state, to walk through the emptying streets as the sky pinkened (if they were fortunate enough to have a smog-free night) and the sun lowered casting the streets and alleyways in a deepening orange glow. The silence that accompanied the darkening sky was the perfect background to let her mind wander and pray as she willed.</p><p>Silence was something that Sister Bernadette was intimately familiar with. The daily observation of the Great Silence, a time of contemplation and reflection for her and her sisters, had not been difficult to acclimatise herself to when she had first joined the Order. She had spent months living in near silence after her mother had first passed, her father had been a man of few words as it was and with her mother’s death it was almost as if a part of him had died with her. Silence had become a part of daily life.</p><p>Now as she weaved her way through the streets back towards Nonnatus House, her thoughts strayed back to the drawing of Timothy that was living in Doctor Turner’s pocket. What reason would the doctor have to keep it in his pocket? She could see a man like the doctor keeping a photograph of Timothy in his wallet, plenty of proud fathers kept photographs of their children close at hand, she imagined Doctor Turner was no different, but a drawing she had done on a whim to keep his son entertained one day? Other than the fact that it was a portrait of Timothy, she couldn’t understand why he had taken the trouble to bring it with him to clinic in the first place. Ordinarily she would assume he had left it in his pocket after he had collected Timothy from Nonnatus House that afternoon and transferred it to his clinic coat and forgotten about it. Though he worked hard and never neglected a patient, she had found him on occasion to be quite the scatterbrain (more often than not caused by his attention to his patients). It was a trait she found rather endearing. His dedication to his work would often cause small things to slip to the wayside and be forgotten about, as evidenced by the absent button and his inability to stick to a schedule; time meant little if delivering the best care possible to a patient meant running slightly behind for the rest of the day. Her analytical mind instantly found a flaw with that assumption; unless he had gone to the Parish Hall after collecting Timothy, unlikely given it had not been a clinic day and he had been leaving to do his house calls, or he had kept the picture in the suit he had been wearing and forgotten about it until clinic day, also unlikely given he was neither wearing the same suit that day or lacking in the personal hygiene department, he had to have purposely take kept the picture with him.</p><p>
  <em>But for what reason?</em>
</p><p>Sister Bernadette chewed thoughtfully on her lower lip as she rolled the question around in her mind. It didn’t make sense. There was no reason she could think of for him to keep it at the clinic of all places. <em>So why was it there?</em> <em>I suppose I could just ask him</em>.</p><p>She felt her face involuntarily redden at the thought. That wouldn’t do at all, she would have to explain how she found it in the first place, something she was definitely not prepared to do. For some incomprehensible reason, she found she didn’t want him to know that she had been the one to fix the button back onto his clinic coat. <em>I don’t need thanks, knowing I’ve helped him is enough, </em>she reasoned. No, the thing to do would be to forget she had found the picture at all.</p><p>
  <em>Let us both have our secrets.</em>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>I'm absolutely terrible at replying to comments but thank you so much for the kind words. I'm doing my best to get as much of this written over the next few days as I can as I have another treatment session this week and I'm expecting it to be less than pleasant for a up to a week afterwards, so I apologise in advance if updates suddenly cease for a little while (I have every intention of continuing it afterwards though)</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0008"><h2>8. Eight</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Tragedy had struck Poplar again. A dark cloud of grief hung over both the Kelly household and Nonnatus, guilt and doubt plagued Nurse Miller like a dog nipping at her heels. Sister Bernadette knew what that felt like, had felt the same after the death of Tessie Baker. She knew in time the pain would pass, but that knowledge would be of little comfort to Cynthia now, nothing would.</p>
<p>No one had seen Cynthia since she had been sent to her room with an aspirin and hot chocolate by Sister Evangelina. Trixie and Jenny had returned not long after making sure she was tucked up in bed, their steps lacking their usual jaunty flair and their faces masks of matching downcast expressions. Everyone knew to some extent what Cynthia was feeling in that moment, and none of them could do anything to make it better which hurt them all the more.</p>
<p>She had been fortunate that day to have been called out to a delivery of her own that had not been moving along as quickly as initial signs had suggested. During the lulls between contractions and she had found herself sitting beside the lit fireplace reciting the fourth offices of the day to herself. She had been surprised when her patient had rolled towards her on the bed and requested she speak louder, claiming she found her voice and the words of the prayers she spoke comforting. Sister Bernadette had smiled and done as the mother had asked, letting her voice soothe the mother into a short, restful sleep, thankful that they would at least help one person that day. As she finished she spoke a small private prayer for Nurse Miller, barely loud enough to be heard, wishing she could have been with her sisters, to say their prayers for the young nurse together as one voice, though she was content with the knowledge that their small Nonnatus family would give Cynthia unwavering support and whatever comfort Cynthia could take from them.</p>
<p>She had finally made it home with an hour to go before dinner and found herself in the kitchen preparing a mug of horlicks to take upstairs to the grief-stricken nurse, though a part of her hoped it wouldn’t be needed and that Nurse Miller had managed to find enough peace to sleep. She would need all of her strength for the days ahead, the enquiry into baby Thomas’ death would be difficult enough without a lack of sleep adding to her already fraught emotions.</p>
<p>After some investigation and many opening of tins, she eventually found a packet of biscuits that had somehow managed to survive Sister Monica Joan’s notice. Piling a few onto a tray with the horlicks she made her way to Nurse Miller’s room, knocking gently when she reached the door. Long moments passed and she was just considering returning to her sisters to help set the table for dinner when a quiet voice called for her to enter. The voice near broke her heart, quiet and empty, lacking all emotion but with the distant edge of an undertone that Sister Bernadette was intimately familiar with; hopelessness.</p>
<p>She pushed the door open and edged her way into the room, unsurprised to find Cynthia curled up on her bed, the covers kicked to the bottom and dangling precariously off the edge. The curtains were drawn and the room was dark, the only light being what filtered through the open door, illuminating Cynthia’s pale face and reddened eyes squinting up at her but lacking all focus.</p>
<p>“Oh, Cynthia.” She breathed sympathetically and stepped over to the bed, removing the an abandoned, mostly full mug of hot chocolate and replacing it with the horlicks she had made before setting the tray she carried on the floor and leaning over to flick on the lamp on the bedside table. Satisfied the light wouldn’t overwhelm the tired nurse, she closed the bedroom door to give them some privacy.</p>
<p>The only reaction Sister Bernadette received to her presence was Cynthia pulling her knees further to towards her chest, making more room on the small bed. Sister Bernadette took the unspoken invitation and perched in the space Cynthia had made, reaching across to run her hand soothingly across the back of Cynthia’s tightly held shoulders. The gentle repeated motions instantly broke the barriers Cynthia had erected around herself, a trembling lower lip and gentle scrunching of her face the only sign of the oncoming tide of emotions before she turned her face towards her pillow and reached a hand up to cover her eyes.</p>
<p>Sister Bernadette did not cease her gentle massaging of Cynthia’s quaking shoulders, only taking her free hand to push Cynthia’s loose hair behind her ear. “It’s alright,” she murmured, letting her fingertips trace down the side of Cynthia’s head, “Let it all out.”</p>
<p>“I don’t know what to do.” Cynthia sniffled softly, her voice muffled by her hand and the pillow. “I keep seeing his face.”</p>
<p>Sister Bernadette reached under her scapula and produced a hankie. “Here,” she gently pulled on Cynthia’s arm and prompted her to sit upright, “I can’t promise it’s a magic hankie, but I can promise it’s clean.” Cynthia gave her a watery smile and took the offered hankie, holding it carefully between her fingertips before reaching up to wipe her eyes. “I’m not going to tell you it gets better, because it doesn’t,” Cynthia glanced up at her, surprise evident in her teary eyes, “but you will learn to live with it, to channel that pain into something better, it’ll make you a better nurse and midwife.”</p>
<p>The young nurse sniffled and wiped her eyes again, “Mrs Baker?” she prompted carefully.</p>
<p>Sister Bernadette hummed in the affirmative, “Oh she wasn’t the first and sadly won’t be the last, just as baby Thomas won’t be the last.”</p>
<p>Cynthia nodded her understanding, her fingers tangling in the fabric of the handkerchief. “I keep wondering if there was something I missed or something more I could have done.” She muttered.</p>
<p>“I know.” Sister Bernadette smiled sadly and reached up to tuck another loose strand of hair behind Cynthia’s ear, “Now, dinner won’t be long, would you like me to make you up a tray?” She knew it was unlikely Cynthia would want to eat and it was even less likely she would be willing to join the rest of them in the dining room and have to subject herself to her colleagues walking on eggshells in her presence, constantly wondering if they would say the wrong thing and upset her.</p>
<p>Cynthia paused for moment and Sister Bernadette feared that she would refuse her offer, until she nodded discretely and muttered a small “Yes, thank you.”</p>
<p>Sister Bernadette decided it best she take her leave and reached down for the tray she had deposited on the floor. Giving Cynthia’s shoulder one last rub, she made to go, only pausing when Cynthia’s quiet voice floated to her just before she closed the door behind her.</p>
<p>“Sister?” Sister Bernadette peered back in Cynthia’s direction to find her staring intently at her. “Would you pray for me? And baby Thomas?”</p>
<p>The request was simple, and something she would do gladly if it would bring her young friend even the smallest modicum of comfort. Sister Bernadette dipped her head and smiled warmly at the nurse, “Always.”</p>
<p>On her way back to the kitchen she was surprised to find Doctor Turner sitting at the small desk outside the clinical room, papers piled around him as he scribbled away, occasionally pausing to flick through the papers. He paused and looked around to her when he heard her footsteps, his mouth twitching into his customary lopsided smile.</p>
<p>“Doctor Turner! Greetings.” She felt her face warm involuntarily as she watched him holding the papers in his hands, her treacherous mind replacing the papers with the one she had drawn his son’s face upon, one she strongly suspected he had stopped to gaze upon multiple times.</p>
<p>“Good evening, Sister.” He dropped the papers onto the desk and turned to look at her fully.</p>
<p>“You’re here to work on the Kelly case?” She asked politely, hoping the safe topic of work would banish the flush from her cheeks.</p>
<p>He nodded and rubbed a hand over his face. He looked tired. “Unfortunately yes, I came to take a look at Nurse Miller’s notes but unfortunately Sister Julienne was needed elsewhere before I could ask about them.”</p>
<p>“Oh not to worry, I’ll fetch them for you.” Sister Bernadette replied, doing her best to inject some brightness into her words. He gave her a small smile in answer and turned back to his notes. She made her way to the kitchen and set about making the doctor some tea, his borderline haggard expression told her it would most likely be welcome. With her usual efficiency it took her no time at all and she found herself back outside the clinical room with a steaming teacup and the notes he had requested.</p>
<p>“These are all of Nurse Miller’s notes,” She placed them and the teacup in front of him and allowed herself to fall back into her customary pose, hands in front of her waist. “And please, you’re most welcome to join us for dinner.” She offered earnestly.</p>
<p>He glanced up at her, his mouth set in a grim line though his warm brown eyes held his appreciation at the invitation. “Thank you, but I want to try and get a bit ahead of the enquiry.”</p>
<p>Sister Bernadette gave a tiniest nod of understanding though he had already turned his attention back to his papers. Of course he would sacrifice his personal time if it meant helping a colleague, it was in his nature to allow his own wants to fall to the wayside. “Is there anything else I can get you, Doctor Turner?”</p>
<p>“Some of your faith perhaps?” His face turned to her again and she almost thought she saw something resembling an apology among the lines she found there. “It’s at times like this I wish I had one.”</p>
<p>She couldn’t say what made her say it, to offer up that small sentence that had him turning to her, his mouth slightly agape and eyebrows furrowed in surprise,“It’s a times like this I wish it made a difference.” She paused, blanching at her sudden confession. <em>Why on earth had she said that? </em>“Sorry, I should leave you to your work.”</p>
<p>“No, please.” He reached his hand towards her, almost urgently, as she turned to leave before seeming to think better of it and turning to gesture at the desk. “Stay, take tea with me.”</p>
<p>Sister Bernadette shook her head and made to leave again, “I’m expected in the dining room.” She almost made it to the corridor before his soft voice reached her, almost too quiet for her to hear.</p>
<p>“Just for a moment?”</p>
<p>She paused and looked back at him, his expression so filled with wondering and expectation she couldn’t help but turn back to him. She nodded and slowly walked back towards him, feeling somewhat akin to walking into a lion’s den as he watched her every move intently.</p>
<p>“Tell me?”</p>
<p>She didn’t need to ask him to clarify what he was asking for, an explanation for her slip of the tongue. He was curious by nature and she could imagine her odd statement had set the cogs in his mind working towards understanding the inner thoughts of a nun. She twisted her hands together and allowed her gaze to drop to her feet, she had often found it easier to organise her thoughts when she wasn’t distracted by people studying her as intently as she imagined he was doing now.</p>
<p>“We devote our lives to doing His bidding, offering up ourselves to carry out His work and yet it’s at times like these when you see how little a difference it makes.” She spoke carefully, pausing to allow her thoughts to organise themselves instead of tumbling out of her lips like pebbles, skittering around with little pattern. “It doesn’t matter how much faith we have or how much we pray for Thomas Kelly or his family, it won’t change what has happened.” She paused and smiled wanly at him. “All we can do is hope that our prayers bring comfort to them in their hours of need.”</p>
<p>She allowed her words to peter out into the quietness of the room. He hadn’t moved an inch as she spoke and she wondered what he saw in her in that moment to give him the expression of a boy who had just discovered the stars for the first time. Her cheeks flushed at the thought and she forced herself to look away from the softness of his eyes.</p>
<p>“I really am expected in the dining room.” She finished quietly, giving him one last small nod before edging out of the room again, fully aware of the feeling of his eyes trailing her.</p>
<p>
  <em>Curiouser and curiouser.</em>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>*Mushu voice* I liiive. As usual everything is incredibly unchecked (if you discount rewatching That Scene as dozen times to make sure it's word perfect) and my tiredness may have left me prone to some mistakes (I apologise, time has no meaning for me right now and my brain is certifiable mush) but there we go.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0009"><h2>9. Nine</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“<em>It’s at times like this I wish it made a difference.”</em></p>
<p>The quiet confession had stunned him more than he cared to admit. He had expected her to offer her council in the form of assurances that “God has a plan and only in giving yourself over to that belief would you see what that plan is” as Sister Evangelina was wont to say, her belief so unwavering he had often wondered if she was correct. Instead Sister Bernadette a firmly pulled the rug out from beneath his feet yet again.</p>
<p>The more time he spent with her the more intriguing he found her. Who was this young, idealistic woman who had chosen to dedicate her life to her faith, to forsake an ordinary life of relative freedom for the utilitarian discipline of her vocation, who could believe whole-heartedly in the will and goodness of an omnipotent entity but see that sometimes that faith was of little consequence. It astounded him.</p>
<p>He had found himself practically mesmerised as she had spoken to him, her voice quiet and guarded as if she were giving confession to something that nobody should hear. He supposed in a way it was, he could only imagine the tongue-lashing she would have received if they had been overheard by one of her Sisters, namely one in particular. He wondered if her differing opinions was another aspect of her youth. It had not escaped his attention over their years of working together that she was more receptive to change than her Sisters, her views on new medical techniques and practices largely falling in line with those of the nurses, something he often found himself grateful for when it came to pitching new ideas to the members of Nonnatus House; having her and the nurses as steadfast allies against the blustering Sister Evangelina did wonders for one’s confidence.</p>
<p>He had felt her absence sharply when she had left him to join her fellow nuns and nurses at the dinner table. There was so much he wanted to ask her, so many questions that had forced themselves into his mind since their conversation that he had found it difficult to focus on his task of reading Nurse Miller’s notes on the birth of Thomas Kelly. One question in particular had been eating away at him since Christmas, since she had taken it upon herself to offer a small crumb of her childhood to help allay his fears about Timothy.</p>
<p>Who had seen been before? What had happened over her life to shape her into the impossibly good, spirited woman that he knew today. It seemed strange to him that he should think in that way, he had never before found himself wondering about lives of the women he knew as Sisters Julienne, Evangelina, and Monica Joan before they had taken their holy vows, it seemed impossible to imagine them as having been anything else. But there was something about her, something that called to him, begging him to find the answers. He had first met her when she was on the threshold of her new life as a nun, both eager and unsure in her new role as a postulant midwife; he supposed that was the cause of his curiosity. He had been an outside observer, however limited, of her adjustment to the religious life.</p>
<p>Patrick rubbed his eyes and let his pen fall onto the desk. There was little more that could be added to his notes regarding the Kelly baby and words in front of him were beginning to shift like insects skittering across the paper. It had been a long day and past time he got home to Timothy and prepared for another day. He swept all of the papers together and slipped them neatly into his briefcase before picking up the little book containing Nurse Miller’s notes and giving them a last look over, knowing he would not find the answers he needed in order to give Pat and Irene Kelly closure. He would need to return the notes to Sister Julienne before he left. He had not seen any of the members of Nonnatus House since Sister Bernadette had left him for dinner some time ago, though from the time he supposed they must have long finished.</p>
<p>After quickly making sure the desk was as neat and tidy as it had been before he had begun working his usual chaotic, disorderly manner, he gathered the notes and went in search of the Sister in Charge. It was unusual to see the convent so still and empty, his visits were ordinarily accompanied by a flurry of activity as the midwives went about their days, he could almost feel their grief and sympathy for their colleague in the atmosphere of every empty room he passed by on the familiar path towards Sister Julienne’s office.</p>
<p>It wasn’t until he began nearing the chapel that he heard it, resonating along the cavernous hallways as if he were listening from the bottom of a well. Singing. It must be time for Compline. He almost stopped dead in his tracks as the sound flowed towards him, there was something so sacred about the idea of witnessing the nuns in their worship that he almost turned away, and yet his feet still carried him forward of their own accord. Though he could not yet make out the words, the melody drew him closer like a moth to a flame.</p>
<p>When he reached the chapel he paused just outside of the doorway and tucked himself into the alcove. He knew he would be welcomed, the nuns were never anything but, yet he could not think of himself as an intruder as he watched, their serene faces turned towards the bibles in their hands as they let the music encompass them. He did not know the psalm they were singing but the slow and mournful words wrapped around his heart like a vice and he found himself breathless, and the vice tightened when the voices petered out and left only one singing alone in a gentle, lilting soprano. He had never heard her sing before, not like this, and as he watched he found himself hopelessly captivated.</p>
<p>From her position at the end of the aisle, merely feet away from him, he could see her clearly. Her eyes had drifted closed as she gave herself wholeheartedly to the music as though nothing else mattered and he found his own doing the same, letting her voice wash over him like a tide and allowing it to soothe away the cares of the day. Was this what she meant about allowing their prayers to comfort those who needed it? He thought, perhaps, he could understand the appeal.</p>
<p>His opened his eyes again when the voices of the rest of the nuns rejoined that of their Sister and he felt as though the floor had fallen away from beneath him. She was watching him. Had he made some noise completely unnoticed by himself to draw her attention to him? He didn’t think so, but then he had been so focussed on her, her voice, that he doubted he would have noticed if a bomb had gone off right next to him.</p>
<p>He shuffled awkwardly as he tried to decipher the expression on her face. It still carried the same serene mask as her Sisters, but the slight tilt of her head and faint twitch of her brow hinted at something else. After their earlier conversation she was probably wondering what he was doing there.</p>
<p>Allowing his lips to form a slow smile, he lifted Cynthia’s notebook into view before placing it on one of the benches in the alcove. Looking back at her to ensure she understood, he tipped his head in the barest hint of a nod before turning on his heel and walking away, the ghost of her voice echoing in his mind as he walked.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>ngl I've really struggled with this one, my concentration has been absolute pants since my treatment session, but I have a couple of weeks before my next one so I should be back on form for a little while at least. In between then y'all can catch me on tumblr crying about fictional characters :')</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0010"><h2>10. Ten</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>In her ten years of midwifery, Sister Bernadette could honestly say she had never attended a birth as odd or chaotic as that of Mave Carter, though given the reputation of the Carter twins she shouldn’t have expected anything less. She had heard rumours of the Carter twins bizarre leanings towards old herbal remedies and superstitions but to actually see it in practice had almost caused her to betray her normally calm exterior. Luckily for her, Trixie had no such qualms about making her opinions known.</p>
<p>As much as Mave begged for her sister to support her during the labour, Sister Bernadette couldn’t say that she wasn’t relieved that Meg had decided to keep her distance, she and Trixie had enough on their hands without having to corral Mave’s obstinate older sister. She left Trixie to begin the standard examination while she went about clearing up some of the two sisters’ unusual medicinal paraphernalia and setting out their instruments. She was in the middle of helping Trixie into her white gown when a soft knock sounded at the door and Doctor Turner pushed his way inside.</p>
<p>“Hello Nurse Franklin,” His eyes drifted to her and she saw them crinkle slightly in the corners as he ghosted a smile at her, “Sister Bernadette.” He set his bag down and shucked off his suit jacket.</p>
<p>“Doctor Turner, perfect timing.” Trixie grinned and straightened the white gown Sister Bernadette had just finished securing for her. “Mave here is doing splendidly but I think it won’t be long before gas and air will be quite a welcome sight.” She turned around and began tying the strings on Sister Bernadette’s gown in return.</p>
<p>Doctor Turner nodded and smiled over at Mave, “Good afternoon, Mrs Carter.” He called cheerfully, taking a step closer to the bed so he could see her fully. “I’ll be back with the gas and air in just a few moments, you’re in good hands with Sister Bernadette and Nurse Franklin here.” Mave seemed to pay him no mind however and Sister Bernadette watched as her face contorted into the look of strained determination and concentration that she had come to associate with contractions. Trixie noticed it too and danced over to the bed to coach her through it.</p>
<p>Effectively dismissed, Doctor Turner stepped away and began rolling up his shirt sleeves. Sister Bernadette closed the small distance between them, averting her eyes as she spoke to him. It had been over a week since she had seen him standing in the alcove outside of the chapel, his eyes closed and an almost dreamy expression painted across his face. It had been a long time since she had seen him looking as relaxed as he had been in that moment, almost carefree, like nothing bad could touch him. She only wished she could see that expression more often, he always seemed to carry the weight of the world on his shoulders.</p>
<p>“I don’t think it will be too much longer before she’s fully dilated, contractions are coming quickly now.” She murmured to him, her voice low and gentle. Doctor Turner nodded and slid a hand into his pocket, his eyes darting around the room.</p>
<p>“Excellent.” He paused and glanced back at the closed door that led to the kitchen where Sid and Meg Carter were waiting. “Does her sister not want to be here?”</p>
<p>Sister Bernadette sighed and looked over at the woman on the bed, “Apparently not, there’s seems to have been a bit of a disagreement between them over how this baby should be born.” Doctor Turner raised a curious eyebrow at that but didn’t enquire further, instead electing to slip out of the room to fetch the gas and air case. True to his word he was back in moments, quickly depositing the case before leaving again to wash up.</p>
<p>She took the case and began to set it up next to the bed, all the while discretely monitoring Trixie and Mave as Trixie helped her through another contraction with her usual cheerful exuberance. Sister Bernadette couldn’t help but be proud of the younger midwife, she was proud of all of the nurses, but Trixie had more to overcome than some of them. With her glamorous movie-star looks and playful attitude, many had underestimated and even ridiculed her when she had first moved to Poplar. It didn’t take long for people to realise that nursing meant to world to Trixie and hard work and determination quickly had her accepted by the community.</p>
<p>“Mave, sweetie, I promise you it <em>will</em> help.” Trixie reached for the face mask Sister Bernadette was holding and showed it to Mave.</p>
<p>“<em>I want Meg</em>.” Mave whimpered and gently pushed Trixie’s hand away. The nurse and the nun shared a defeated look as Sister Bernadette took back the mask and stowed it back in its case. Trixie gently patted Mave’s thigh and gave her one of her Hollywood smiles.</p>
<p>“It won’t be long and you can introduce her to her little niece or nephew.” She said brightly. Doctor Turner chose that moment to return to the room, his face impassive as he looked over at Sister Bernadette. She raised her eyebrow at him in a silent question. He seemed to understand as his eyes briefly flicked over to the labouring woman before drifting back to the nun stood beside the bed. He lightly shook his head; he’d made no headway with the mule-headed twin either.</p>
<p>He moved into the corner of the room and settled into the odd birthing chair to observe the midwives at work and to wait to be called upon if needed. Sister Bernadette appreciated that about him, he never seemed to feel the need to take over in cases such as this, when his presence was more of a formality and a precaution. Instead he would wait and watch silently and allow the midwives to do their jobs without interference, respecting their professionalism and authority in the delivery room without question. She hadn’t known many other doctors like that, if any at all.</p>
<p>The labour progressed quickly and time slipped by unnoticed by the four people in the room and Sister Bernadette felt the atmosphere fall into the familiar buzzing anticipation as Trixie announced the baby’s head was crowning. She heard Doctor Turner vacate the chair and step up behind her close enough to send an involuntary shiver down her back. She glanced over her shoulder at him and found him smiling that same lopsided smile that had become so familiar to her, his hair falling messily across his forehead.</p>
<p>“Pant for me, Mave.” Sister Bernadette heard Trixie instruct the dark-haired woman and she turned her attention back to the job at hand, stepping closer to the bed and leaning down towards Mave so she could demonstrate Trixie’s instructions and help her match her breathing to her own. Trixie continued to talk their patient through the worst of the pain until she finally called “There we are, baby’s head is born.”</p>
<p>“I want Meg. I want my sister.” Mave cried, making Sister Bernadette’s heart clench. She hated seeing her patients hurting and not being able to help. She glanced over her shoulder at the doctor and saw the same helplessness she felt reflected in his eyes.</p>
<p>“Would you like to step forward, Doctor, so you can hand baby to mother when it’s born?” He gave her a grateful nod and stepped forward into the space she created for him while she retreated to fetch collect a towel.A few moments later Mave’s pain and hard work was rewarded with the mewling cry of her new daughter.</p>
<p>“Congratulations, Mrs Carter. You have a little girl.” He announced, smiling widely at the new mother. Sister Bernadette could feel him leaning over her shoulder she and Trixie gently wrapped the tiny little girl in the towel. She knew if she looked at him he would be wearing the same awestruck, happy expression she had seen on his face a numerous other births, the same one she new that herself and Trixie shared. The joy of welcoming a new life into the world was something that she had never gotten used to and she was glad of it.</p>
<p>“Meg’ll be pleased. We never did like boys.” Mave commented tiredly. Sister Bernadette carefully bundled the little girl into her arms and handed her over to the waiting doctor, marvelling at how small the baby looked in his arms and how carefully he took hold of her, as if she might break. She stepped aside to make room for him to get closer to the bed, slowly lowering the newborn so her mother could see her. Sister Bernadette felt her heart fall as Mave sighed tiredly and turned her head away. “Will you get her?”</p>
<p>Trixie frowned, “There is such a thing as being ready for visitors.”</p>
<p>“I want my sister.” Mave demanded, refusing to look at the baby in the doctor’s arms.</p>
<p>He straightened and turned to Sister Bernadette. She held her arms out to take the baby from him, her hand sliding over the back of his as he handed the baby to her. His hand was impossibly warm and softer than she expected and she found herself looking up at him involuntarily. “I’ll go through and announce the glad tidings, and then she can come in.” Though his words remained cheerful, his eyes looked sadly at her before releasing his grip on the newborn. He brushed past her and exited the room, leaving her to look down at the newborn in her arms, eyes welling slightly as she gazed at the sleeping cherubic face. What a peculiar family she had been born into.</p>
<p>She listened to Trixie telling Mave what to expect during the third stage as she paced across the room towards the dresser Mave had spoken of earlier, gently rocking the baby as she moved. She pulled open one of the drawers and settled the baby inside, pausing as she did so. She watched as the baby fussed at the sudden change of location before settling again; it wasn’t so very long ago she had done the same with Tessie Baker’s daughter and she couldn’t help but wonder what had become of the baby, there had been no word since she had been transferred to the family that would foster her until her grandmother and father could take her.</p>
<p>“Sister, could I borrow your ear for a moment?” Trixie’s voice calling out to her drew her attention. She looked over to the younger midwife to see her holding a pinard and Mave watching them both closely. Sister Bernadette frowned and went to relieve Trxie of the pinard, knowing exactly what Trixie was asking of her. “I’ll fetch Doctor Turner.” The nurse murmured before slipping away.</p>
<p>“What is it? What’s the matter?” Mave questioned as she placed the pinard and leant down to listen. She listened intently for a moment before she heard the rapid tell-tale thumping of a baby’s heartbeat. Doctor Turner strode back into the room with Trixie hot on his heels as she listened. She peeked up at him and pulled herself upright.</p>
<p>“Twins.”</p>
<p>She watched as his brows furrowed. “It explains the small first baby.”</p>
<p>“And the slow third stage, no placenta yet.” She reported softly.</p>
<p>Mave’s eyes flicked between the three of them fearfully as Sister Bernadette moved to examine her. “There was never any sign of twins. Never any inkling.” The nun gently placed her hands on Mave’s abdomen and immediately felt the rigid bulk of the second baby. She automatically tuned out the voices of the other people in the room as she concentrated, her experienced hands mapping out the shape of the baby beneath them. She frowned when she felt the baby’s head sitting high on the right of Mave’s womb.</p>
<p>“What’s the lie?” Doctor Turner asked her, watching her closely as she backed away from Mave.</p>
<p>“Transverse.” She reported. Doctor Turner sighed heavily and moved to prepare for what was to come. She turned her attention back to the woman on the bed. “Mavis? I’m afraid baby’s misbehaving slightly and lying sideways on instead of head down.” Her attempt at light and airy had little effect on the scared woman who immediately began to cry.</p>
<p>“Don’t worry, Sister Bernadette’s going to have it out in no time.” Trixie reassured her as she began spreading powder over Mave’s stomach.</p>
<p>“The waters aren’t broken, the presenting part looks like the right shoulder, I’m going to have to try an External Version.” Not ideal, but given the circumstances she didn’t have a lot of options.</p>
<p>“We’re going to have to turn the baby around so that it can be born more easily.” Trixie translated when Mave looked at her questioningly.</p>
<p>“I can't do it again, I can’t.” Mave whimpered, echoing words Sister Bernadette had heard time and time again over the last ten years.</p>
<p>“We’re going to be with you every step of the way, Mavis, trust us.” She caught Mave’s eye and hoped her face looked as confident as she sounded. “This will hurt but I just want you to hold tight to Nurse Franklin’s hand.” She placed her hands on Mave’s stomach and took long, slow breaths. She had done this procedure multiple times, but each time felt like the first; nerve-wracking. It made her feel like she was in training again, praying that everything would be alright, that everything would go by the book as she gently but firmly manipulated the tiny being beneath her hands to move into a better position. She was breathing heavily when she finally felt the baby yield beneath her hands and begin to turn. She worked steadily and efficiently, as was her way, doing her best to ignore Mave’s cries and groans of discomfort as the baby shifted; the quicker she could get the baby to turn, the better it would be for both of them. When she was finished she held the baby in position and nodded at the doctor waiting beside her.</p>
<p>“Sister’s turned the baby around, Mrs Carter, it’s in the correct position now.” Mave didn’t acknowledge the doctor’s words as he moved to collect some of their instruments, anticipating what was to come next.</p>
<p>“We’ll need to rupture the membranes, so the head can engage.” She panted, shifting her body slightly so Trixie could move Mave’s legs into position. She watched as the doctor settled himself on the bed and did as she had instructed, caring little about the wetness that crept up his shirt sleeve as he worked, quickly piercing the amniotic sack before injecting Mave’s thigh. Her heart faltered when Trixie looked up at her, her eyes wide and a blood-soaked cloth in her hands. <em>Not again.</em></p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>so this chapter was getting pretty long so I've split it in two, part two being semi-complete, though I imagine it'll done and posted by tonight</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0011"><h2>11. Eleven</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Time moves differently in an emergency. To some people it moves so slowly seconds seem like minutes, dragging along at a snails pace as the rest of the world carries on as normal. Sister Bernadette had always found it to be the opposite, moving so fast she could barely keep up and all she could do was to let herself work on autopilot, her experience taking over and guiding her through. She did that now as she worked with Doctor Turner and Nurse Franklin to deliver Mave’s second baby as quickly as possible, involuntarily holding her breath as she watched him and Trixie prepare for a forceps delivery.</p><p>She barely had time to register the sound of the door slamming against the wall as Mavis cried out before Doctor Turner was pulled away, protesting as he fell heavily to the floor. She didn’t hesitate to grab hold of the elder twin’s arm, dragging her away from the doctor before she caused any more harm. To say the stinging slap of Meg Carter’s hand meeting her face was a shock would have been an understatement. She cried out at the contact, the force of the blow sending her to the floor in a similar fashion to the doctor. She winced as her shoulder connected with the hard wood, stunning her momentarily. She could already tell she would be sore in the morning.</p><p>As she picked herself up she could hear the doctor’s voice, tinged with anger as he tried to reason with the irate twin. She had seen him angry before, had seen him raging about some circumstance he could not control, though never directed specifically at another person, but no matter the cause, she hated to hear his normally warm voice become stilted and cold, it didn’t suit him.</p><p>She quickly returned to her post and braced Mave’s foot against her thigh, her cheek throbbing. In all her time as a midwife she had never heard of one of the nuns or nurses being assaulted, it just wasn’t done. There had been a time when midwifery had been considered a lowly profession, unworthy of recognition and hardly considered as a class of medical care. But times had changed and particularly in areas like Poplar nurses and midwives were respected, even revered. Their uniforms marked them and protected them, to the residents of Poplar it was unthinkable to harm one of them. Of course Sister Bernadette could not condemn Meg Carter for her actions, she was trying to protect her sister.</p><p>Doctor Turner’s terse words and Trixie’s stern command seemed to shock Meg into action and for that Sister Bernadette couldn’t help but be grateful, for both the fact that Meg’s presence immediately calmed her sister and for the fact it seemed that they would not have to contend with any more for right-hooks. At least for the time being. From then it was only a matter of moments before Mave was blessed with another little girl, though she didn’t have the time to think that it seemed fitting for both of the newly born twins to be girls before she was sweeping the baby into her arms and instructing Trixie to find the mucus extractor. The little girl was so tiny and pale, the deathly blue tinge of her lips making Sister Bernadette’s throat clench painfully and her heart started racing faster than she thought possible as she heard Doctor Turner’s voice call out about a haemorrhage.</p><p>It was only a few weeks before in another house with another mother and another baby girl nestled safely in a drawer that the same had happened. She found it odd that the sound of Doctor Turner’s voice was reassuring. She wasn’t alone this time.</p><p>With the baby’s airways cleared she began rubbing her back firmly, almost desperately, as she willed the tiny girl to take her first breath. Scattered fragments of prayers leapt into her mind as she tried to expand the baby’s lungs, rocking her slowly in between each breath. The room was silent, the rest of the occupants seemingly holding their own breaths as they waited. She could feel their eyes on her and she wondered if they were also praying for the life of the tiny baby in her arms. Doctor Turner had told her once that he sometimes wished he had a faith, perhaps in his own way he did, even if it was only in medical science. Long moments passed and she smiled as the baby squirmed in her arms before finally releasing a tiny, thin cry, Mave’s eyes opening at the sound.</p><p>“Praise the Lord.” She whispered, blowing gently across the baby’s face and encouraging another cry. <em>Perfect. </em>She couldn’t stop the smile that bloomed across her face, nor the tears that came the her eyes as she laid the baby in Mave’s arms before retrieving the older twin from her place in the dresser.</p><p>“Give her to my sister.” Mave smiled warmly at her sister, drawing an echoing expression from Meg as Sister Bernadette carefully handed the tiny bundle over. She almost laughed when Trixie stumbled back into the room and stopped short at the peculiar sight before her. Yes, this was definitely the most odd and chaotic birth she had ever attended.</p><p>A moment passed as they watched the two Carter’s fawning over the newborns before Trixie seemed to shake herself and turned to Doctor Turner, “The Flying Squad are on their way.”</p><p>The doctor nodded and stood, pulling his gloves off as he did so, “I feel they may not be needed after all.” Trixie grinned and took his place to wait for the afterbirth. He set about gathering his unneeded instruments and packing them neatly away. Sister Bernadette took the opportunity to relieve Mave of the baby she was cradling and took her to the empty side of the bed to start the usual checks.</p><p>“She seems to be breathing perfectly on her own, Doctor.” She spoke softly, unable to take her eyes of the mewling newborn. Doctor Turner stepped up next to her, stethoscope in hand. He placed the tips in his ears and warmed the drum on the back of his hand before carefully placing it on the baby’s chest and listening closely.</p><p>“Well done, Sister.” She could hear the smile in his voice, gentle and tinged with something she couldn’t identify. Pride? Awe? Whatever it was it made heat rise to her face and butterflies flit in her stomach and she was glad he couldn’t fully see her face.</p><p>“Is she alright?” Mave asked, turning her head as far back towards them as she could while in her somewhat awkward position. Sister Bernadette scooped the baby into her arms and carefully handed her over to Doctor Turner, he grinned down at the little bundle before lifting his warm brown eyes to hers.</p><p>“She’s absolutely perfect, Mrs Carter.” Sister Bernadette felt something akin to a shiver creep down her spine as he spoke, his eyes not leaving hers as he did so. The moment was broken with the clatter of metal on wood as Trixie set a kidney dish on the floor.</p><p>“Placenta complete, Doctor.” Trixie paused and stared into the dish. “And from the looks of it, we’ll be having another set of identical Carter twins on our hands.” She laughed, tugging her gloves off.</p><p>Doctor Turner chuckled and scooted around the bed to hand the baby to Trixie who took her happily and cooed softly at her. “I’ll go through and tell Mr Carter the good news.” He paused and glanced over his shoulder at Sister Bernadette. “If I could borrow you for a moment as well, Sister?”</p><p>Her eyebrows raised fractionally as she shot him a puzzled look but she dipped her head and made to follow him out of the room with a lilting “Of course, Doctor.”</p><p>In the next room, Sid Carter stood propped against the kitchen counter-top, a hand to his mouth as he chewed anxiously on the corner of his thumb. His head shot up at the sound of the door opening and his expression turned expectant as he took in the wide smiles on both of their faces.</p><p>“Congratulations, Mr Carter, you have two beautiful baby girls.” Sister Bernadette gushed, her happiness evident in her voice. Mr Carter’s eyes widened and his jaw dropped open, his hand suspended in mid air in his shock.</p><p>“Two? You mean twins?” He stuttered, his eyes darting between the doctor and the nun like a wild animal.</p><p>Doctor Turner gave a small laugh and nodded emphatically reaching forward to shake Sid’s hand, “Absolutely, congratulations.”</p><p>Sid blew out a long breath and seemed to droop heavier against the counter behind him, one hand reaching behind him to steady himself while the other reach up and wiped down his face. A small smile stretched his lips and he laughed. “Two, huh?” He pushed himself away from the counter and gestured at the closed door, “Can I seem ‘em?”</p><p>Doctor Turner turned to glance at Sister Bernadette who was already cracking open the door and peeking inside to see if they were ready for visitors before looking over shoulder and smiling encouragingly at Mr Carter.</p><p>“They’re ready for you now, Mr Carter.” She replied brightly, pushing the door open slightly further in invitation. Sid glanced between the two of them quickly before sweeping past them both in a flurry of smiles and barely contained anticipation.</p><p>Sister Bernadette closed the door behind him to give them some privacy and turned to Doctor Turner. He was watching her again, she noticed, his dark eyes soft and warm and his hair flopping messily across his eyes as she was so used to seeing it. She couldn’t help but like the way his hair was always a barely controlled mess, it seemingly gave him more humanity, unlike the many other doctors she had known over the years who had always seemed pompous and superior with their stilted voices and brylcreemed hair.</p><p>His lower lip quirked and he gestured for her to come closer. He waited until she was only a few footsteps away before his face turned serious, his eyes skirting over her face and brows furrowing in concern.</p><p>“Are you alright?” His eyes lingered on her left cheek where she could feel it was still tingling, she wouldn’t be surprised if she had started to bruise.</p><p>She made a small noise in the back of her throat and nodded, “Oh, I’m fine.” If she were being honest with herself would would love to go back to Nonnatus and put a cold flannel on her face before crawling into a hot bath to soothe the ache that had set into her shoulder where it had jarred against the floor. He shot her a look that told her he didn’t quite believe her and raised a hand hesitantly, letting it hang in the air between them as he looked at her.</p><p>“May I?” He asked unsurely. She hesitated, her face growing warm at the thought of the doctor’s hands on her skin. She nodded slowly and turned her face the side, presenting her cheek to him without complaint.</p><p>He paused for a moment before slowly reaching out with one hand to touch under her chin, gently using his fingers to turn her face in the light so he could properly see. He brought his other hand up to her face and ever so gently felt along her cheekbone with just the tips of his fingers, his touch so light and gentle she imagined it more as a caress. The warmth of his hand was pleasant against the soreness of her skin and unexpectedly soft, delicate even, and she felt her eyes begin to drift closed as he continued his examination, a soft breath escaping her lips. She dared not look at him, her heart squeezing at the thought of what she might see. Would he think her silly for allowing herself this one girlish indulgence?</p><p>She failed to suppress a wince when his fingers came across a particularly tender spot and she felt his hands retreat quickly from her skin almost as if she had burned him. She took a long, slow breath and looked up at him. He was staring at his fingers, the thumb of the hand that had touched her cheek sweeping across the tips of his other fingers and she found herself so confused and curious in equal measures at his reaction; he was a doctor, she would think he would be used to the sometimes intimate contact that came with the job, just as she had become used to it during the duty of midwifery and district nursing.</p><p>So why was her stomach twisting and her cheeks burning?</p><p>He coughed and dug his hand into his pocket, the other automatically reaching up to his mouth in a gesture she had come to recognise as his desire for a cigarette. He flicked his eyes to hers and tilted his head slightly.</p><p>“There doesn’t seem to be any fractures, though I would recommend a cold compress to reduce the swelling when you return to Nonnatus House.” She nodded in agreement at his assessment and watched as he seemed to stop and think, as if he wanted to say something else to her but couldn’t find the words. He shuffled for a moment on his feet before settling and dropping his hand away from his face. “Were you hurt anywhere else? You took quite the tumble.” He stated matter-of-factly.</p><p>She dipped her head so that she couldn’t see his eyes peering at her in that intense way that made her cheeks fill with colour before shaking her head lightly. One little white lie couldn’t hurt, and she could ask forgiveness for it later.</p><p>“Just my pride.” She smiled and looked up at him when he chuckled. He shrugged his shoulders at her questioning glance. She bit her lip gently and glanced back at the closed door that led to the bedroom, her expression turning solemn as she thought how close they had come to disaster.</p><p>He seemed to notice the change in her mood immediately, stepping closer to her and gently touching the side of her arm to get her attention.</p><p>“What’s wrong?”</p><p>She sighed heavily, her shoulders drooping as she thought about young Tessie Baker’s once smiling face. She peered at him from under her lashes, refusing to look up at him directing in case he saw the full extent of her feelings. She had never been good at hiding her emotions.</p><p>“For a moment there, I thought it was going to happen again.” She said quietly. She didn’t need to explain further, she knew immediately that he understood what she meant as realisation flooded his eyes and his brows drew together in a frown. In that moment she hated herself for bringing it up.</p><p>His face was so open and understanding she had too look away again, her eyes closing when he whispered two short words.</p><p>“Me too.”</p><p>They stood in a companionable silence, respecting each other’s need to grieve in silence, though Sister Bernadette found his steadfast presence more calming than words could say. The moment wasn’t to last however, as the sound of approaching bells broke the quiet.</p><p>Doctor Turner hummed and stepped away from her, making his way to the front door, “That’ll be the ambulance.”</p><p>Sister Bernadette coughed and ran her hands down the front of her habit, straightening the scapula. The location was different, the family different but the scenes for familiar. She could only send her thanks that where before it had ended in tragedy, this time her prayers had been answered, and as she watched Doctor Turner's retreating form she found herself grateful that this time, she was not alone.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>I decided to wait a couple of days before posting the second half of chapter 10, it gives people time to read the first half and shortens the time between posting the next part (that I haven't written yet and yep, treatment tomorrow so farewell concentration).  Hope you enjoy it in the meantime &lt;3</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0012"><h2>12. Twelve</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Patrick was having trouble concentrating and the cause of his distraction was currently smiling at him in the most endearing way he could possibly imagine. Truth be told he had found himself to be easily distracted in her presence ever since she had given him an impish smile and accepted a puff on one of his cigarettes. He was learning quite quickly that small Scottish nun currently stood demurely in front of him, her hands folded together in front of her, was going to be a continual source of surprise.</p><p>He didn’t know exactly what he had expected when he had jokingly offered her his cigarette, certainly not for her to accept. He couldn’t claim to be knowledgable about the lives of the nuns or the dedications they took, but one thing he was sure of was that her little act of rebellion in the sharing of his favourite vice was surely to be frown upon if discovered by her sisters.</p><p>He had watched, completely fascinated, when she had leaned forward and delicately curled her fingers around the cigarette and brought it to her lips in a smooth movement that had instantly told him that while she was out of practice, it wasn’t her first time partaking. His suspicions were quickly confirmed with a story about a fourteen year old Bernadette sneaking cigarettes from her father’s desk.</p><p>The new information had given rise to more questions about her, an occurrence he was fast getting used to experiencing. In the hours since their separation he had tried to imagine a her as young girl, mischievous and nervous in equal measures, waiting for her father to leave for work before slowly pulling open his desk drawer and carefully rooting around until she found her prize. There were details he couldn’t visualise regardless of how hard he tried; the colour of her hair, the expression on her face as she took her first lungful of smoke. He had never seen Sister Bernadette without her cap and wimple; on some days he thought of her as a blonde, other days her hair was the colour of polished brass. Had she been nervous when she had taken her first cigarette, anxiously peering this way and that before opening the desk drawer to ensure that she wouldn’t be caught. Had the smoke caused her to cough and splutter like it had him when he had first taken up the habit. Did she stay at home to smoke them by herself or take them to share with her school friends while playing in a grassy field, climbing trees and giggling while tumbling downs hills. The thought of the usually put together nun dirtying her skirts as a girl made him smile.</p><p>He had watched her wheel her bicycle to the end of the cobbled street, her steps so sure and steady he almost thought he imagined it when she had paused briefly before turning the corner, her head turning to his in the quickest of glances before she disappeared down a side street. The small mystified smile that had tugged at his lips since he had passed his cigarette to her had remained in place until longer after she was out of his sight, even as he lingered outside the Carter home, leaning against the rear of the MG with one hand in his pocket and the other holding the smouldering stub of the cigarette as if it were a jewel she had given him. He had watched the red glow creeping down the length of the paper, slowly eating it away as he could do nothing but think of the softness of her hand when his had inadvertently brushed against it as he relieved her of the cigarette.</p><p>It was the memory of those fleeting touches they had shared that was driving him to distraction even as she stood before him now in the maternity home, her blue eyes glittering with happiness as she relayed the details of the birth of Mrs Platt’s son to him. He could see she was practically vibrating with barely contained excitement as she spoke, the adrenaline of the birth no doubt still working it’s way through her veins. He couldn’t quite hear the words she was saying, his mind too lingering on the memory of his fingertips sweeping across her cheek in a way he knew he should chastise himself for. Her skin had been like silk, flawless and soft in a way he could never have imagined and he was sure his heart had momentarily stopped when her eyes drifted closed and she sighed gently, unconsciously leaning in to his touch. The moment had lasted only seconds and yet afterwards, when they had gone their separate ways and he had been leaning against the MG, he could still feel the ghosting sensation of his unintentional caress on his fingertips like a brand. He wondered if she could feel it too.</p><p>“- and he’s such a bonny little boy.” She trailed off, tilting her head and looked up at him curiously as if she knew where his thoughts had taken him. “Are you alright, Doctor Turner?”</p><p>He smiled and ran a hand over his mouth, embarrassed at having been caught not paying complete attention. “Of course, Sister.” He looked past her into the postnatal ward where Mrs Platt was currently resting. “I’m glad everything went well with Mrs Platt.”</p><p>He inwardly sighed in relief at having apparently given a satisfactory reply despite not knowing entirely what she had been saying when she smiled widely and made a small noise in the back of her throat. “She did absolutely wonderfully, Doctor.” She dipped her head and turned away from him, heading into the postnatal ward to no doubt check that the mother in question was comfortable.</p><p>Patrick watched her. He had been doing that a lot recently, he had found; because he found himself fascinated by her, hoping to discovering new titbits of information about herself that she kept so carefully hidden or simply because he admired her as a colleague, he couldn’t say, though he would wager it was a mixture of the two.</p><p>She <em>had</em> become incomprehensibly fascinating to him over the last few months, a walking enigma that he so desperately wanted to understand that it was beginning to eat away at him. He wanted to be able to ask her all the little questions that had been niggling at the back of his mind since she started to reveal little puzzle pieces of her past, and yet he knew that he couldn’t. It wouldn’t be proper and would in all likelihood violate one of the rules of her sisterhood; as little as he knew about the rules of the religious life, he did know that the Sisters were expected to shed their old lives like a snake shedding it’s skin, to completely immerse themselves in their new identities. It was something that he would never fully be able to understand and yet he respected it.</p><p>He had also recently found himself endlessly enthralled while working together. He should have noticed it sooner really, but it was only after he had watched her with Mave Carter that he had realised exactly how much he admired her. It had been a long time since he had seen an External Version performed by a midwife, and he had never seen one performed by someone so young or so confident as her. He had been completely in awe of her as he had watched her turn the baby, her small, delicate hands steadily manipulating the baby until it lay in a better position. He wondered how much it must have worried her to have to perform such a task; to change the position of the baby without harming either it or the mother, without rupturing the fragile amniotic sack rendering it impossible to move, and without a whole other host of things that could possibly go wrong occurring, and still she had done it without hesitation and so confidently and calmly that even his worries had been soothed. The feelings of reverence had only intensified as he had watched her work the revive the baby with determined breaths and gentle rocking motions until finally the girl had squalled and the tense atmosphere in the room had broken with Sister Bernadette’s quiet <em>praise the Lord.</em></p><p>Even after being assaulted by Meg Carter she hadn’t faltered, continuing with her work as though nothing had happened. He couldn’t have been more proud to work with her in that moment. He had been so angry with the ornery Carter woman, at the audacity she had to strike a <em>nun</em> of all people, let alone one as gentle and sweet as she was, that he had briefly contemplated throwing her from the room himself. If it hadn’t been for Trixie’s stern command he might well have done.</p><p>When she had arrived at the maternity home that morning he had immediately spotted the yellowing bruise that marred the top of her cheek and the way she held her right arm stiffly. He hadn’t been surprised by the quick flare of anger that lanced through his chest as he discretely observed her as she had hung up her coat. He couldn’t abide seeing bruises on women, even less so on one that he had come to care for. The thought had stunned him and warmed him at the same time, and as he watched her now, laughing quietly at something Mrs Platt had said while helping her to prop an extra pillow behind her shoulders, he found that he could quite easily get used to that feeling.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>so this has taken a little longer than I thought it would but *gestures wildly* yeah things occurred</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0013"><h2>13. Thirteen</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>It was a rare occasion these days for Sister Bernadette to see the usually bright-eyed and rambunctious Timothy Turner look so crestfallen, and as she flitted around the clinic kitchen collecting the supplies she would need to clean up his grazed arm she could see him across the room, hunched over in the chair she had lead him to, shoulders turning inward and the front of his dark hair flopping into his eyes from under his school cap in the same disorderly fashion as his father as he seemed to contemplate his shoes.</p><p>The Doctor’s almost outright dismissal of his son and his injury had surprised her; it seemed such a harsh contrast to the teasing and light-heartedness that was usually aimed at the younger Turner that it had jarred her, forcing her to hide her disapproval behind a tight smile and to defuse the tension with a quick offer of her services. Doctor Turner had answered her offer with the familiar look of apologetic relief only a man who was being pulled in too many directions to deal with at once could give and she found herself feeling immediately guilty for allowing herself to judge him; it was not her place, and if she were able to ease his burdens she would do so in any way that she could, and with that thought in the back of her mind she had quickly ushered Timothy over to an empty chair with cheerful platitudes of having his arm fixed up in a jiffy.</p><p>It didn’t take her long to gather together a kidney dish of the supplies she would need and when she returned to the young boy he was scowling at his injured elbow as if he could will the graze away. She knelt in front of him and set the kidney bowl in his lap before gently taking hold of his elbow and beginning to turn it this way and that so she could properly inspect the damage.</p><p>Timothy watched her every move, his jaw set in a firm line as she carefully picked up a pair of tweezers and began to remove tiny pieces of gravel from the cut, occasionally flinching when she caught a particularly tender spot.</p><p>“My dad doesn’t like me.” The lad mumbled after a long minute of watching Sister Bernadette work. She paused in her work and let her eyes drift up to Tim’s face. His eyes were still fixed on her hands on his elbow, his neck straining with the effort of attempting to see what she was doing. She quickly flicked her gaze to the mother’s sitting to the side of them, finding them deep in conversation with each other and paying neither her nor Timothy any mind.</p><p>“Your father <em>adores</em> you, Timothy.” She kept her voice low as she spoke, gently gripping the little boy’s knee to grab his attention. He was frowning when he finally looked at her, his eyes dark and stormy with frustration and sadness.</p><p>“He never has time for me.” He replied sadly, turning his attention back to his arm and twisting it so she could see it again. Sister Bernadette took his hint and resumed clearing away the dirt.</p><p>“You know, Timothy, my father was very much like yours.” The soft plinking of gravel hitting to bottom of the kidney dish punctuated her words and Timothy tilted his head towards her.</p><p>“Your father was a doctor too?” His eyes widened in fascination and she couldn’t suppress the quick chuckle that bubbled out of her.</p><p>She shook her head and set the tweezers aside, peering carefully at his arm to make sure she had gotten all of the dirt from the graze. “No, he was a greengrocer.” She picked up a piece of lint and began to soak it in iodine.</p><p>“Oh.”</p><p>Sister Bernadette smiled at him and took hold of his elbow again. “This may sting a wee bit.” She warned, waiting for his nod before beginning to slowly wiping the pad across the graze. Timothy bit his lower lip and watched as she worked.</p><p>“I was a few years younger than you when my own mother died.” She began quietly, keeping her attention firmly on what she was doing but not failing to notice his head twisting to watch her face fully now, and though she couldn’t see his expression she imagined it to be similar to that of his father’s when she had told him about her mother’s passing.</p><p>“Really?”</p><p>She dropped the used pad into the kidney dish and looked up at the boy, a small smile on her lips. “Mhmm.” She kept her voice light as she spoke. “My father had a very successful greengrocers stall when I was growing up, he was always busy,” She took hold of a clean bandage and began to roll it expertly around Timothy’s elbow. “When my mother died, I sometimes felt like you do now. It took me a long time to realise that my father was doing his very best for the two of us, working as hard as he could to make sure we always had a home to come back to and food on the table, and so that I could come to London to attend nursing school when I was ready.” She caught his gaze and watched as his cheeks reddened slightly.</p><p>“So what you’re saying is-” He paused as he thought about the possible meaning behind her story. She took the opportunity of his distraction to finish tying off the bandage and tugged the sleeves of his school shirt and jumper back down his arm.</p><p>“What I’m saying is that my father showed me he loved me every day in the only way he knew how to do.” She smiled at him again and shrugged her shoulders lightly. “And if him keeping busy also helped him to move past my mother’s death, who am I to begrudge him that.”</p><p>Timothy’s mouth dropped open slightly, forming a small round ‘O’ as he processed her words and nodded in understanding. She tapped his knee encouragingly and gathered the used kidney dish from his lap. Timothy prodded gently at his elbow through the bulk of his sleeves and grinned at her, quickly jumping up from his seat with his usual exuberance and forcing her to take a quick step to the side to avoid being bowled over.</p><p>“You be sure to keep that elbow clean, young man.” She gave him a teasing smile and smoothed down the front of her apron with her free hand.</p><p>“Oh I will, Sister Bernadette.” He quickly ran towards the door before skidding to a stop at the end of the row of chairs and turning back to her, a serious expression plastered on his youthful face. “Thank you.”</p><p>Sister Bernadette didn’t have a chance to respond before the boy was spinning on his heel and skipping from the hall as if nothing had happened. She looked down at the kidney dish in her hands and nodded to herself before heading back into the kitchen to wash up. It wasn’t much later, as she was in the middle of attempting to clean some abandoned test tubes that she was interrupted by a gentle clearing of the throat. The glass tube in her hand clinked dimly against the others in the basin as her hand slipped and splashed back into the soapy water.</p><p>“I’m sorry,” Doctor Turner held a placating hand out as he stepped further into the kitchen, the curtain-strips swinging back into place in the door-frame behind him. “I didn’t mean to startle you.”</p><p>Sister Bernadette breathed out a laugh and let her shoulders relax. “It’s quite alright, Doctor.”</p><p>He chuckled and leaned against the counter-top, his forefinger and thumb rubbing together almost anxiously, “I seem to be making a habit of startling you.”</p><p>Sister Bernadette felt her face warm in that awkwardly familiar way as she recalled him watching her during Compline after the death of the Kelly baby, and the feeling of his fingers trailing across her injured cheekbone. Yes, he was definitely making a habit of startling her, in all manner of ways. She turned her lips upward in an imitation of a smile and let her attention fall back on the basin of soapy water in front of her, making an effort to look as nonchalant as possible as she pulled out the test tube she had dropped and began inspecting it for cracks.</p><p>“Not at all, Doctor.” She replied, hoping her voice didn’t sound as strained to him as it felt leaving her throat. She felt his eyes lying still on her as he let her words linger in the air between them for a long moment before seemingly deciding to take pity on her and dragging his cigarettes from his pocket and twirling the silver case in his hands.</p><p>“Thank you for taking care of Tim.” His voice was soft, almost guilty as he spoke and she once again found herself hating herself for judging his so harshly before. She placed the test tube back in the water and let it sink to the bottom of the basin before turning to him with a sympathetic look. “He was upset with me?”</p><p>Sister Bernadette reached for a cloth to dry her hands as she thought about how to answer him. “Children his age don’t always understand the difficulties of balancing a career and the life of a single parent.” She sighed and dropped the towel onto the counter. “I apologise, I’m overstepping.”</p><p>Doctor Turner took a quick step closer to her and reached out a comforting hand before seeming to think again about touching her and shoving it quickly back into his pocket. “No, I appreciate any help I can get.” He laughed awkwardly and set his cigarette case down. “Sometimes I think we’re moving one step forwards and two steps back with each other.”</p><p>“He may not entirely understand now, but he will, in time.” She caught his eye and gave him the same encouraging look she had given his son not long before.</p><p>He tilted his head and she watched as the very corner of his lips quirked upward, “So speaks the voice of experience?”</p><p>She dipped her head and hummed softly, “You could say that.” He coughed gently, drawing her gaze back up to his.</p><p>“And what does your experience tell you?” He asked her earnestly. She caught her lower lip between her teeth and let her hands fall to the towel on the counter, dragging the frayed edges between her fingertips.</p><p>“The little things mean more than you think they do.” She replied cryptically, unsure of whether she was referring to his relationship with his son or the troublesome haze of feelings that had been beginning to slowly eat away at her. He cocked his head in puzzlement and she felt that troublesome feeling start to gnaw at the pit of her stomach in an all too familiar way.</p><p>She wasn’t entirely sure if she imagined his hand drifting towards the button she had sewn back onto his clinic coat, his fingers flitting briefly over the white plastic disc. Her eyes strayed to his pocket, and she allowed herself to seek out the tell-tale lines of the piece of paper she knew he kept hidden there.</p><p>“Yes,” He answered haltingly, “I suppose you’re right.”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>I really apologise for this taking so long to get out, I had a little bit of a set back with my treatment that made me very under the weather, bUT, I have now officially finished chemo and am nearly at the end of the treatment road! I'm hoping to get back into posting a little more regularly now that I won't have the long recovery periods in between sessions but we'll see how that goes. In the meantime I hope you enjoy it &lt;33</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0014"><h2>14. Fourteen</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>He arrived at the Parish Hall shortly after 2pm to find the usual crowd of mothers piled into the room, chatting merrily to each other and cooing over their respective babies while they waited to be called for their examinations. They all seemed completely oblivious to the nurses dashing this way and that, going about their business in the way that could only be described as organised chaos.</p><p>He was glad to see Sister Bernadette walking serenely down the middle of the aisle of chairs, clipboard in hand, stopping to greet her patients and to delicately trail the back of her finger across the cheeks of the newborns that were proudly held out for her to see. He was almost becoming used to the way his eyes automatically sought her out whenever he entered the clinic. Almost.</p><p>He found it endlessly surprising the effect she had on him. Her glowing smile upon her noticing his arrival had instantly caused his mouth to dry and his heart to flutter in a way he could only describe as ridiculous; more what he thought of as the reaction of a hormone-addled young man and not that of a fully-qualified Doctor on the wrong side of forty, and yet something he found himself craving for more and more each day. What he wouldn’t give to have her smile at him like that every day.</p><p>The thought lingered with him as he swept past her, giving his usual greeting as he went, making his way to the clinic kitchen to swap his slightly battered coat for his clinical coat and doing his best to appear completely unaffected by her. He succeeded for the most part, his nearly walking directly into Nurse Miller notwithstanding. He brushed past her with a mumbled apology and ducked through the curtain of the kitchen, shaking his head at his own distraction. It troubled him how much Sister Bernadette had begun to occupy his thoughts in one way or another, whether it be in the form of his admiring her as a professional and a colleague or for the growing affection that had taken root in his very soul. It troubled him even more how much of a fool he was being for entertaining such thoughts in the first place; she was unattainable and yet he couldn’t suppress the deep aching want that spread more and more each time he saw her and each time she smiled at him in that way that tore his heart to shreds.</p><p>The nun in question had come to the end of the aisle and was stood rooted in place with her eyes lingering on him, her head tilted and brows knitted in confusion. It took her walking over towards the kitchen and placing her clipboard on the ledge of the serving window for him to realise that he had been staring and to make matters worse, he had forgotten to finish removing his jacket and it was hanging limply around his elbows.</p><p>“Are you alright, Doctor?” She questioned, her blue eyes searching his. He coughed awkwardly and finished slipping off his coat and draped it over his arm, forcing his eyes away from hers in the process.</p><p>“Of course, Sister.” Praying that he sounded convincing and she wouldn’t question it any further, he moved to the coat hooks in the corner and swapped his coat for his white clinical coat. He kept his back to her as he tugged the coat on and adjusted it across his shoulders. He took another moment to retrieve his cigarette case and his lighter and slip them into his pocket. When he turned around he was surprised to find her still lingering on the other side of the window giving him an appraising look that told him she didn’t believe him in the slightest. <em>Damn</em>.</p><p>“Forgive me for saying this, Doctor,” she paused and looked at her hands as if she were trying to decide whether to say anything at all, “but you seem a little out of sorts.”</p><p>He groaned inwardly, <em>well done Patrick.</em></p><p>“Not at all.” He shoved his hands in his pockets and gave her what he hoped was a winning lopsided smile. “Got lost in thought, that’s all.” He breathed a small sigh of relief when she smirked and picked up her clipboard.</p><p>“It must have been something important then.” She teased lightly, pulling the clipboard to her chest, her eyes sparkling with humour.</p><p>He grinned widely at her, “Oh just the usual, whether I should spare Timothy my cooking and get fish and chips for dinner tonight.” Her answering laugh was light and airy and cut him to the core in a way he couldn’t explain, and yet, what he wouldn’t do to hear it again. Instead he would have to content himself with the memory of it as she retreated back towards the hordes of patients that were awaiting her attention and he would have to do the same. Once more unto the breach.</p><p>Some days he swore that Tuesday clinic hours were getting longer and longer, and that day was one of them as the three hours seemed to pass at a snails pace. The run-of-the-mill clinic session had concluded with even the minimal amount of griping from Sister Evangelina and while Patrick was relieved that there had been nothing dire that had required any of their attentions, he couldn’t help but feel the other shoe was about to drop.</p><p>The Parish Hall slowly emptied as the clock neared 5pm and he soon found himself left with only Sister Bernadette and Nurse Lee as he finished reassuring an overly-anxious first time mother that she was the picture of health and everything was going as smoothly as possible with her pregnancy and no, she did not need to be admitted to the maternity home for observation. The woman nodded slowly, seemingly convinced, and collected her coat and bag. She gave the two midwives a small parting wave when she rounded the curtain and made her way for the door. She was only feet away when it opened unceremoniously and banged loudly against the wall, making her stumble backwards, one hand protectively across her abdomen.</p><p>Patrick’s glanced up sharply from the paperwork he was gathering together at the sound of Sister Bernadette’s voice calling out in a tone he had come to recognise she only used with particularly stubborn patients.</p><p>“Can we help you?” Her pronounced accent had lost it’s usual sweet lilt and instead had become cold and authoritative and the change instantly set him on edge. He dropped the paperwork onto the small examination trolley and stepped around the curtain. He was surprised to see a tall, dark-haired man standing at the bottom of the steps leading into the hall. The man was unkempt to say the least and Patrick would have mistaken him for a vagrant if it weren’t for the fact that he had treated the man for a broken leg the year before and could recognise him underneath the scruff that was coating his lower face.</p><p>The man stepped further into the hall, making his way slowly towards him and Patrick saw from the sway of his steps alone that he had started early on the drink. The strong smell of whiskey that reached him seconds later only acted as confirmation. Nurse Lee glanced anxiously between them, placing the chairs she had been stacking back onto the floor in front of her and taking a step closer the Sister Bernadette who stood to the side of her, her nose wrinkled at the oppressive smell of the alcohol.</p><p>Patrick looked over at Sister Bernadette and his heart clenched at her pale face and wide eyes. Obviously she had recognised their visitor too, if not as quickly as he had.</p><p>“Mr Baker, what are you doing here?” Patrick asked evenly, taking a small step forward and holding a steady hand out in front of him, hoping the drunken man would recognise the signal and stay where he was.</p><p>With wide-set shoulders and well surpassing six-foot tall, Edward Baker could easily be described as imposing on the best of days; but with his patched, dirty clothes, scraggy beard and dark eyes, Patrick found he was downright intimidating. And he looked completely broken.</p><p>“Came back and found my Tess gone.” The man sniffed and wiped a dirty hand across the underside of his nose. “Neighbour said she’d been dead for weeks now.”</p><p>Patrick walked forward and placed a hand on the man’s arm and gave it a comforting squeeze. “I am <em>so</em> sorry for your loss, Mr Baker. We did everything we cou-”</p><p>He found his words stopped and his arm shaken off from where it had been on Mr Baker’s arm when the arm question reared back before lashing out and a large fist caught Patrick sharply across the chin. Patrick grunted and stumbled backwards with the force of the blow. He dimly heard the shocked outraged voices of Nurse Lee and Sister Bernadette over the rattling he felt in his head as he tried to get his bearings.</p><p>“<em>What on Earth do you think you are doing?”</em> Patrick would have laughed at the idea of the man incurring the whole Scottish wrath of the five-foot-two force of nature that he knew Sister Bernadette could be if he weren’t so concerned about her jumping to his rescue the same way she had at the Carter’s home.</p><p>He shook his head and pressed his hand to his jaw where he could feel it pounding in time with his heartbeat. He felt rather than saw Mr Baker step into his space and stooped so his face was closer to Patrick’s.</p><p>“<em>You don’t get to say that.</em>” He hissed, spittle flecking his beard. Patrick wondered whether he was about to be hit again before the large man took a step backwards and glowered at him from his new position. He took several long, deep breaths before he spoke again. “Where’s the kid.” The commanding tone left little doubt in Patrick’s mind that it was not a question.</p><p>“No one’s told you?” He frowned and pulled himself back up to his full height, doing his best not wince at the pain in his jaw as he spoke.</p><p>His attention was quickly drawn by Nurse Lee’s desperate “<em>Sister</em>” and he watched the young nun take a careful step toward the irate man, one arm stretched behind her as Jenny gripped onto her hand, anchoring her so she couldn’t step too close, something Patrick found himself immensely grateful for.</p><p>“Mr Baker, Tessie’s mother is looking after your daughter.” It wasn’t lost on Patrick that the angry tone had disappeared completely from her voice and instead her accent had become more pronounced as she spoke slowly and gently to the man like she was talking to a scared and wounded animal.</p><p>Edward blinked at her dazedly before a ghost of a smile tugged briefly at his lips. “We have a daughter?” His voice wavered and a tear streaked down his face at Sister Bernadette’s answering nod.</p><p>“And she’s beautiful, Mr Baker.” She spoke wistfully. If Patrick closed his eyes he could see her contentedly holding the little baby she had clearly become so quickly attached to. It was a day he was certain he would never forget and the serene expression her face had held as she’d cradled the tiny girl was something that would always be at the forefront of his mind when he thought about it.</p><p>Edward Baker smiled sadly and let his head droop, “Jus’ like my Tess.” He commented wiping his eyes with the back of his hands. He took a deep, shuddering breath and looked Patrick squarely in the eye, making Patrick involuntarily tense. “Did my Tess suffer?” The quiet pleading of his voice had Patrick’s heart clenching painfully, and as he flicked his over to Sister Bernadette and saw a solitary tear trailing down her cheek he thought his heart might break.</p><p>“No, Mr Baker, your wife didn’t suffer.” He replied calmly. Whether it was the truth or not, hearing anything different wouldn’t help the grieving man.</p><p>The man stared at him for a long moment before bowing his head defeatedly, almost visibly shrinking in size in his grief, before he turned and left the hall silently, leaving the three other occupants of the hall in a stunned silence.</p><p>It was Nurse Lee who came back to herself first, quietly asking “Should we inform the police?” and gently squeezing Sister Bernadette’s hand before releasing it and anxiously straightening her uniform. Her large, brown eyes flicked between her two colleagues and the door the man had left through.</p><p>Patrick sighed heavily and ran a hand through his hair, shaking his head almost imperceptibly but knowing Sister Bernadette would be on the same train of thought as he was.</p><p>“I don’t think that will be necessary, Jenny.” She answered for him and he saw her eyes working their way over his face, no doubt cataloguing his injuries. “He’s been through enough.” She turned and smiled tiredly at the young nurse. “Why don’t you finish up here while Doctor Turner and I go and see to that bloody nose of his.”</p><p>Patrick started at that revelation. He hadn’t even realised he <em>had</em> a bloody nose. He reached up and carefully probed above his top lip and sure enough the tips of his fingers came away bloody.</p><p>“Ah.” He said dumbly, digging a handkerchief out of his pocket and holding it to his nose.</p><p>“Yes, <em>ah.</em>” Sister Bernadette mimicked, shaking her head and herding him towards the kitchen like an unruly child, plucking up a chair as she went. Patrick raised an eyebrow but let her have her way. He stopped when he reached the sink and leaned over it before removing the handkerchief, frowning at the stark contrast of the red against the white cloth. He heard an unimpressed sigh behind him and he turned to see Sister Bernadette frowning at him. She set the chair she was carrying in front of him and gestured for him to sit. Thinking better of disobeying, he circled the chair and lowered himself into it.</p><p>She positioned herself to the side of him and pulled the hand holding the handkerchief back up to his face. He pressed it back against his nose and sat statue still as she moved her hand over the bridge of his nose and started carefully feeling for any breaks.</p><p>“He hit my chin, not my nose.” He mumbled from behind the handkerchief, tipping his head back to look at her and repressing a grin at the instant reproachful eyebrow lift he got in return.</p><p>“Better safe than sorry.” She retorted calmly. He turned his head and lifted his chin so she could see where Edward Baker had struck him.</p><p>“I’m pretty sure it isn’t broken.” He muttered as her fingers ghosted across his chin. “We seem to be making a habit of this.” He caught her eye and chuckled.</p><p>“Making a habit of what, exactly?” Her eyebrows creased in confusion.</p><p>He removed the handkerchief from his nose and mustered a grin Timothy would have been proud of. “Getting hit by our patients.” He succeeded in drawing a thin laugh from the nun and any breath he had remaining in his lungs left in a rush as he felt her fingertips move further up the side of his face before her cool palm lightly pressed against his sore chin.</p><p>“I’ll be sure to try and avoid that in the future.” She said softly, her eyes refusing to meet his even as her thumb swept across his neck in the softest of caresses.</p><p>“Yes.” He breathed, letting his hand free hand reach up to hers and trailing his fingertips lightly across her wrist. He could have sworn he felt her hand trembling against his face but before he could confirm his suspicions, the clattering of metal echoed across the hall as Jenny dropped a something on the floor had Sister Bernadette snatching her hand away and her turning on her heels and slipping through the doorway and back into the hall before he could properly register the loss of her hand against his cheek.</p><p>He stood and moved the short distance to the serving hatch where he could see the two midwives across the room picking the fallen kidney dishes up off the floor and placing them back on the shelf they belonged on in the storage unit. He watched as Nurse Lee said something to the young nun who quickly removed her apron and handed it to the young nurse before she trotted over in his direction and quickly joined him in the small kitchen.</p><p>“We’re going to be off now, Doctor Turner.” Jenny said as she hung up Sister Bernadette’s apron before doing the same with her own and retrieving both of their coats. She looked at him appraisingly as she pulled hers on and did up the buttons. “Will you be alright, Doctor?”</p><p>Her eyes fell to the bloody handkerchief in his hand and he smiled warmly at her. “Just from the shock of the blow, no harm done.” He replied, folding the cloth up and slipping it into his trouser pocket. “You both have a good evening.”</p><p>The young nurse nodded emphatically at him and quickly returned the sentiment before slipping away. He imagined she was eager to be back at Nonnatus and recounting her tale to Cynthia and Trixie. He watched as she caught up with Sister Bernadette near the door and handed her her coat before slipping out into the hallway.</p><p>He smiled sadly to himself, thinking the aching in his jaw was nothing compared to the aching in his heart when Sister Bernadette tilted her head briefly in his direction but kept her eyes lowered before following Jenny to retrieve their bicycles and leaving him to touch his face where her hand had been less than five minutes before.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>oh boy do I feel like a gremlin posting this :')</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0015"><h2>15. Fifteen</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Her heart was racing.</p>
<p>Everything had become so complicated so quickly; the brief slipping of her control just the beginning of a dangerous snowball that could, and in all likelihood <em>would</em>, lead to nothing but pain and heartbreak for all involved. She couldn’t believe she had been so brazen, allowing herself to touch the doctor in that way. It was completely foolish and she condemned herself for her lack of inhibitions.</p>
<p>She was thankful that Jenny hadn’t seemed to notice the tumultuous emotions that were coursing their way through her as they had collected their bicycles and began the familiar path back to Nonnatus. The journey back was quiet, Jenny seemingly too caught up in her own thoughts to warrant conversation, something Sister Bernadette found herself both grateful for but also craving, if only to distract her from her own treacherous thoughts.</p>
<p>She couldn’t help but linger on the expression his face had held when he had reached up to caress her wrist; he had looked completely awestruck and his fingertips had been so gentle and feather-light, as if he were afraid she would shatter like glass. She felt like she had done just that. Her chest ached with the weight of her emotions and her fingers gripped the handlebars of her bicycle so her knuckles were white and yet she felt completely weak.</p>
<p>She pushed herself to pedal harder, praying that the deep aching in her chest and legs would be enough to distract her from the memory of his dark eyes holding hers, an emotion she was too scared to name burning brightly in them. Soon enough she and Jenny came upon the familiar sight of Nonnatus, though later she would have no recollection of the journey and would only remember how the exertion had done nothing to make her forget him.</p>
<p>Jenny wheeled her bicycle up to the shed as Sister Bernadette untucked her scapular from her belt and straightened it.</p>
<p>“Are you alright, Sister?” She asked gently, dipping her head to look at Sister Bernadette’s downturned face. “What happened back there was <em>terrifying</em>.”</p>
<p>“I am perfectly well, Nurse Lee.” Sister Bernadette looked up and gave the young nurse the most serene smile she could muster. “We were never in any danger.”</p>
<p>Jenny gaped at her and shook her head in defiance. “But he <em>attacked </em>Doctor Turner! He should be charged with assault!”</p>
<p>“I am well aware of what he did, Nurse Lee, it is Doctor Turner’s decision if he files charges against Mr Baker.” Sister Bernadette frowned at the young woman, allowing her voice to become authoritative as she spoke to hide the exhaustion she felt. “And I’ll remind you that Mr Baker has been through quite the ordeal. I can only imagine what it must feel like to come home after months away to find your wife dead and your child missing. We must have some compassion for Mr Baker and pray that he finds peace.”</p>
<p>“Yes, Sister.” Jenny mumbled. Sister Bernadette nodded at the suitably cowed nurse and led the way into the convent. They were greeted in the entrance hallway by Sister Julienne who smiled warmly at the pair of them. The reminder of her guilt hit her immediately upon seeing her mentor and Sister Bernadette could do nothing but bite her lower lip and nod back before turning away to hang up her coat and taking slow, measured breaths in an attempt to contain the emotions that were clawing their way up her throat. She felt her superior give her a long, appraising look and sighed inwardly to herself. Having known her and lived in such close quarters with her for as long as she had, there was little doubt in her mind that Sister Julienne had noticed she was not herself almost immediately.</p>
<p>“Is something the matter?” She queried, her eyes flicking between the two women in front of her. “Nurse Lee?”</p>
<p>Jenny’s face resembled that of a child who had been caught doing something she shouldn’t have as she looked between the two nuns. “There was an incident after clinic, Sister.” She said carefully.</p>
<p>Sister Julienne arched an eyebrow. “What kind of <em>incident</em>.” She asked coolly, her eyes drifting over Sister Bernadette again, observing the tight way she held herself.</p>
<p>“Tessie Baker’s husband came to the clinic.” Sister Bernadette replied quietly, hearing Sister Julienne’s quick intake of breath and her whispered “<em>O</em><em>h Lord, </em><em>the poor man</em>.”</p>
<p>“He attacked Doctor Turner.” Jenny added, averting her eyes quickly when both nuns turned and looked at her, one in surprise and the other with barely contained frustration.</p>
<p>“Is this true?” Sister Julienne peered at Sister Bernadette who gave a short nod of affirmation. “Was Doctor Turner injured?”</p>
<p>Sister Bernadette held her sister’s inquisitive gaze and prayed her face would not betray the confusing mixture of tenderness and guilt she felt at the mention of the doctor. “His pride more than anything.” Sister Bernadette swallowed thickly. “With your permission, Sister, I’ll retire to my room, I have quite a headache.” Sister Julienne nodded her understanding though her eyes narrowed slightly as her eyes perused Sister Bernadette’s face.</p>
<p>“Yes, of course.” The words had barely left Sister Julienne’s mouth before Sister Bernadette was quietly excusing herself, carefully avoiding the concerned gazes of her mentor and Jenny, instead seeking to find refuge in her cell as quickly as she could.</p>
<p>Her calm facade lasted all of three seconds after she closed the door behind her upon entering her cell. She pressed herself against the heaving wooden door, using it for support as her breath escaped her in a long, shuddering sigh and tears forced their way past the barrier of her interlocked eyelashes to track delicately down her cheeks. She quickly brought one hand up to cover her mouth, smothering the gasping sobs that threatened to escape her throat as she thought about him, about what he made her <em>feel</em>. It made her stomach clench almost painfully and her legs tremble beneath her.</p>
<p>Long moments passed before she calmed enough to push herself away from the door and move further into the room, her hands wiping futilely at her tear-stained face. She caught sight of herself in the mirror and couldn’t help but stare at herself, her eyes red-rimmed and glistening with tears behind her glasses. She had done her best to avoid looking at herself properly ever since the night the nurses had gone dancing and she could no longer control the deep, irrepressible urge to remove her wimple and cap and to wonder, just for a moment, what it would be like if she had not taken vows and could join the young women for the night.</p>
<p>This time, she wondered what it would be like to be able to touch him freely, with no guilt and no vows to hold her back, to be able to speak to him without having to guard herself, to let him know <em>her</em>. As she looked at herself in the mirror, the dark blue of her habit contrasting strikingly against her pale skin, she felt suffocated.</p>
<p>Her habit and wimple were discarded before she truly registered that she was removing them, falling to the floor a piece at a time until she was clothed in only her shift and underwear and her hair was soft and loose around her shoulders. She didn’t look in the mirror again. She wouldn’t recognise the woman she would see there. Where before there had been fascination and curiosity seeing herself without her wimple properly for the first time in years, now there would only be confusion and sadness.</p>
<p>She caught her trembling lip between her teeth and looked at the pieces of her habit spread carelessly across the floor. Such a significant part of her life laying in an insignificant pile at her feet. She bent and collected them into her arms, taking her time to carefully straighten her habit and scapular before draping them across the back of a chair with her guimpe. The wimple, cap, and band she neatly arranged on the seat, her fingers touching the pieces almost reverently as she did so.</p>
<p>The rope cincture gave her pause, and she carried it over to the edge of her bed where she slowly sat. She had woven that rope with her own hands before taking her vows, had been glad to do it, to show her dedication. She let her fingers trail over the three knots at the end of the rope. The three reminders of her vows. Poverty, chastity, obedience. Something she was struggling with more and more every day. She laid the cincture across her lap and let her head drop into her hands, her loose hair falling forward in a curtain, and let herself cry for everything she couldn’t have.</p>
<p>When a knock sounded at her door later that night she ignored it, burrowing herself deeper under the covers of her bed and pretending to be sleeping, though her heart remained heavy and she stayed awake long into the night with thoughts of warm, brown eyes and soft caresses filling her thoughts.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>I remembered reading in the books Novice Ruth weaving her own cincture in preparation for taking her own vows so I'm going with the assumption all of the nuns would have done that during their novitiate</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0016"><h2>16. Sixteen</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Somehow she had managed to avoid seeing the doctor for nearly two weeks, though she couldn’t decide if it was by pure luck or whether her increasingly desperate prayers for guidance had been answered by way of his absence.</p>
<p>She missed him and it was slowly tearing her to pieces with the ache in her heart was growing more and more with each passing day. She could feel herself becoming a shadow of her former self; the conviction and joy she had once felt at being on the path that God had set out before her was waning, leaving nothing but a dark chasm of uncertainty she could not navigate by herself. She was certain her sisters would soon begin to notice her growing despondency and her distancing from them. Sister Julienne had already noted her absence from services but with every passing day she spent more time alone in the convent chapel, tears staining her face as she quietly confessed her sins and begged for answers to questions she didn’t even know how to ask.</p>
<p>Increasingly she felt as though she was being pulled in different directions. Every day she saw her sisters and felt the course fabric of her habit and was reminded of the choice she had made years ago and of all the good she could do by devoting her to the religious path, only to then see the nurses laughing freely to one another and to see <em>him </em>smiling so softly at Timothy and then at her that she would again begin to yearn for something more. It was utterly maddening.</p>
<p>She had tried so desperately to distract herself with the Reverend Applebee-Thornton’s visit. The man was nothing if not voracious and it was easy to forget her troubles whilst she was in his company. It became easier still when she noticed the small seedling of romance growing between the Reverend and Jane. It had been so easy to focus on the fledging romance, nudging it forwards with gentle manipulations of the parties involved and she had taken joy in it even if she had found herself harbouring a small amount of jealousy at the same time.</p>
<p><em>To have lived her life without so much as a kiss</em>.</p>
<p>It was unintentional, she knew, but as she had smiled demurely at Trixie’s words the sting that accompanied them had punched deeper than she had let on. Is that what the nurses thought of her too? That she was naive and inexperienced with regards to the world because she had taken vows at such a young age? She felt silly for even entertaining such thoughts. She had come to consider the nurses her friends and they weren’t cruel by nature.</p>
<p>It was both a blessing and a curse to live with the young nurses. She had bonded with them in ways she wasn’t able to with her sisters; she shared in their humour and their excitement and she felt so at ease with them she often found herself forgetting she wasn’t truly one of them. It was a double-edged sword. The more she found her guard lowering around the nurses, allowing herself to be taken in by their laughter and their charm, the more she found she wanted that life and the happiness that came with it but at the cost of feeling as though she were betraying her sisters and everything she had once believed in so wholeheartedly.</p>
<p>Even now as she stood making tea and listening to Trixie, Jenny, and Jane chattering away excitedly at the little table behind her, discussing their plans to go to the pictures to see the newest romance that had been released, she longed to go with them, to be eagerly planning what outfit she was going to wear and to have Trixie deliberating over what she was going to do with her hair only to then huff and demand she allow her to experiment with the latest fashions before anything was decided.</p>
<p>Their laughter was almost overwhelming, cutting through to her very core and amplifying the guilt that had taken root there. She couldn’t bring herself to turn around and join them at the table. How had it come to this? When she could no longer look at her colleagues without having to consciously and carefully school her expression into one of serenity and calm despite the tumult of emotions that were gnawing away at her. Surely it hadn’t been so very long since a they had been conspiring to take Chummy and Peter dancing and she had found herself swept along with their excitement. So much had changed since then.</p>
<p>She bit her lower lip gently and set her teacup aside, flinching when the teaspoon fell from the saucer and clattered loudly onto the counter-top. She needed to get away.</p>
<p>Taking slow and measured steps she quietly left the kitchen and released a long breath when the three other women continued their giggling, completely unaware of her. The thought made her smile sadly. It wasn’t unusual for her to go unnoticed by them, she had so often been on the fringes during those moments, neither really contributing or sharing in their happiness that it was now just commonplace.</p>
<p>It wasn’t until she was outside the main doors and half-running down the steps that she realised she didn’t know where she wanted to go or what she wanted to do. The urge to be away from the convent and it’s occupants so overwhelming that she just allowed herself to walk without direction and feel the warmth of the sun on her face.</p>
<p>She had heard of others within the Order who had had a crisis of faith, who had come to feel that they were no longer sure what God wanted of them. During her time as a novice she had had many conversations about what to expect from her life after she took her vows, to understand that there would be times when she would not always see what it was that God wanted from her but that she must trust that she would be shown the way. She ran her fingertips across the band on her right hand and closed her eyes. So why was it she felt like she was being pushed towards a different path?</p>
<p>The low rumble of an approaching car forced her to open her eyes and to really take stock of where she had allowed her feet to take her. Her throat clenched when her eyes landed on the familiar green MG crawling to a stop just feet away from her. The driver of the car was smiling widely through the windscreen at her in the same way that never failed to draw a responding smile from her. She watched as he climbed gracefully out of the car and walked around to the boot to retrieve his medical bag.</p>
<p>Sister Bernadette looked around her surroundings carefully and almost started when she noticed she had walked to Doctor Turner’s surgery. She brushed her hands down the front of her scapular and turned to face him as she heard his approaching footsteps.</p>
<p>“Sister Bernadette, it’s wonderful to see you.” He stopped a few feet away from her and set his bag on the floor to the side of the surgery door.</p>
<p>She couldn’t help but smile graciously at him and his genuineness. “Hello Doctor.” She replied, blinking at the way her voice came out as an almost breathy whisper.</p>
<p>“To what do I owe the pleasure?” He tilted his head and grinned, gesturing towards the surgery door in invitation after he unlocked and pushed it open for her.</p>
<p>She dipped her head in thanks and slipped past him into the dark entry hall of the building. She waited as he closed the door behind him and set about turning on the lights before walking past her towards his office.</p>
<p>“I wanted to thank you.” She spoke as she followed him into the office, watching as he went through the motions of putting away his bag and hanging up his hat. He glanced at her curiously as he finished and moved to perch on the edge of the desk that took up the centre of the room.</p>
<p>“Really? Whatever for?” he questioned, sweeping his hand towards the empty chair in front of the desk in invitation.</p>
<p>She dismissed the invitation with a quick wave of her hand. “For the drawing. From Timothy, it was lovely.” She clarified.</p>
<p>He made a quiet ‘ahh’ sound and set his hands in his lap. “I believe it’s I who should be thanking you.” His grin softened into a familiar gentle quirk of his lips. She felt her eyebrows furrow as she tried to think of whatever she had done to earn his thanks. “Tim seems to have had something of a change of heart regarding my working hours.” He chuckled. “Mostly.”</p>
<p>“Mostly?”</p>
<p>He nodded. “He’s made me promise to take him to the fete next week.” He allowed his face to drop into the mock pained expression. “I’ve heard rumours of all manner of activities that Timothy will no doubt absolutely have to take part in and will likely cost me a weeks wages.”</p>
<p>“I’m sure you’ll thoroughly enjoy yourself, even if your pocket does not.” She teased, taking joy in the way his face crinkled in laughter and his eyes danced with humour.</p>
<p>“Oh I certainly will.” He paused and grinned wickedly at her. “He’s playing the part of Maid Marion in the play the Cubs are putting on.”</p>
<p>Sister Bernadette sputtered and brought her hand up to her mouth while Doctor Turner leaned forward on his perch on the desk as they both laughed heartily. She let her eyes wander him as they laughed together, marvelling at how carefree he looked. This was new territory for the both of them. So often their interactions were strictly professional and very rarely strayed towards the personal and when they did they more often than not revolved around Timothy.</p>
<p>She watched as he carefully wiped a stray tear from the corner of his eye and looked up at her. His expression was so open and joyful as she watched him it filled her with something she couldn’t put a name to. Something she was certain she had never felt before.</p>
<p>She hardly noticed as the laughter petered out and they were left watching each other in silence, the atmosphere of the room drawing tighter like the string of a bow. She couldn’t take her eyes off him, off his dark eyes that were so soft and inviting as they studied her. Worse still, she didn’t want to and it was that realisation that caused the tension to snap.</p>
<p>She blinked and took a deliberate step backwards towards the door behind her, folding her hands together in front of her and feeling the skin-warmed metal wrapped around her finger.</p>
<p>“Thank you again, Doctor,” Her heart dropped into her stomach as his expression instantly returned to full professionalism at her use of his title. “Please, pass my thanks on to Timothy? His drawing really was lovely.”</p>
<p>The doctor nodded at her and pushed himself off the edge of his desk. “I will, of course.”</p>
<p>She gave him a half smile. “Good afternoon, Doctor.” She turned on her heel and walked quickly away from him, concentrating on the steady clicking of her heels on the tiled floor and the way her heartbeat matched that of her footsteps.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>"I'm going to post more regularly" she said. Welp. Anyway so timeline-wise ctm can seem to go through weeks in a single episode. Magical. So this is just before the fete whiCH YOU KNOW WHAT THAT MEANS o_O</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0017"><h2>17. Seventeen</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>He lost his footing for what was possibly tenth time and stumbled, dragging poor Timothy to a halt yet again as they continued to practice the three-legged race. Timothy huffed and waited for him to right himself before he tapped his inside leg sharply.</p>
<p>“This leg first, Dad.” The boy reminded him patiently. Patrick nodded and looped his arm more securely around Tim’s shoulders. When he was sure his father was ready, Tim slowly counted down from three and the pair set off again. “You know, Dad, this would be much easier if you weren’t so tall.” Tim grumbled as they fumbled their way down the makeshift racetracks that had been haphazardly marked out on the street outside Nonnatus House.</p>
<p><em>It would be much easier if he didn’t keep getting distracted by a certain woman’s gentle lilting voice and musical laugh</em> Patrick thought to himself as he grimaced and glanced off to the side absently. Not that he was going to share that thought with Timothy anytime in the near future. Instead he jostled his son’s shoulder good-naturedly and forced himself to laugh.</p>
<p>“I’ll remember that the next time you ask me to get something out of a high cupboard for you.” Patrick quipped in return, smirking at Timothy’s offended glare.</p>
<p>“Granny Parker says I’ll be shooting up like a beanstalk soon.” Tim stated matter-of-factly.</p>
<p>Patrick chuffed a laugh, “Granny Parker is probably right.” He knelt down and untied the knotted strip of fabric that secured his leg to Tim’s. “Let’s take a break, Tim.”</p>
<p>Tim nodded quickly before dashing off to join a group of boys who were busy kicking a much-used ball up and down the street. Patrick watched him leave with a small smile as he scrunched the fabric into a ball and pushed it into his trouser pocket. His ears perked at the sound of that familiar laugh that had been the cause of much distraction recently, and he turned to see Sister Bernadette smiling brightly at Fred and young Jack Smith.</p>
<p>“Honestly Fred, I thought you said you were an expert at the three-legged race.” He could hear the hidden laughter in her voice.</p>
<p>“I’ll have you know, Sister, that I won the three-legged race four years in a row when I was a nipper.” Fred tipped his head proudly and Patrick imagined he saw him puff out his chest further.</p>
<p>Jack snorted loudly and threw Fred a look, “How long ago was that?”</p>
<p>Sister Bernadette threw her hands up to her face to smother her laughter at Fred’s red-faced spluttering and Jack’s jeering grin. Patrick could do nothing but smile along with her as he approached the trio, allowing the familiar warmth that bloomed within him each time he saw her to spread throughout his body all the way down to the tips of his toes.</p>
<p>“Oi, I’ll have none of that, thank you very much.” He glowered at Jack who, standing with his arms crossed defiantly across his chest, seemed entirely unaffected.</p>
<p>“It’s not so bad, Fred,” he grinned as he drew within a few feet of the group, “at least you’re not at risk of embarrassing your son in front of all of his friends with your lack of coordination.”</p>
<p>Fred chortled in agreement before stopping short and frowning, “No, only the entire Cub Pack.” He grimaced and scratched the side of his head. “They’ll lose all respect for their Bagheera.”</p>
<p>Sister Bernadette clicked her tongue in a tutting manner, “Nonsense, the Cubs have come a long way since you and Chummy took charge, that’s not going to change because of the outcome of a silly race.”</p>
<p>“Quite right, Sister.” Patrick agreed enthusiastically causing her to glance at him and give him a tiny, lopsided smile. Her eyes quickly flicked elsewhere and Patrick couldn’t help the creeping notion that perhaps after their encounter in the Parish Hall kitchen she wished for him to leave. He certainly hadn’t meant to make her feel uncomfortable in any way, but he also couldn’t deny that he was intensely curious as to what would have happened if they hadn’t been interrupted by Timothy, and worse, it was a curiosity he was fully aware he had no right to feel and yet he couldn’t quite erase it from his mind.</p>
<p>He was absolutely positive that he had not imagined the way that the atmosphere between them in the small room had suddenly become charged. He had noticed it on a number of other occasions and had done his damnedest to dismiss the feeling as nothing but the result of his own growing fascination and affection toward the young nun, a feeling that he knew could not possibly be reciprocated by her.</p>
<p>Perhaps he had imagined the longing he thought he saw on her face, an expression that at the time he was sure had mirrored his own. Had his addled mind conjured the catch in her breath as they had gazed at one another? In the days since they had spoken about the clinic’s shortcomings he had replayed the scene over and over in his mind and could not stop himself from coming to the same heart-wrenching conclusion that perhaps she felt as he did.</p>
<p>Fragile. That’s how she had described the spirit lamps they had been inspecting, and he thought it was the perfect descriptor for whatever their relationship was. Delicate like a newborn birds wings, too unsteady to be able to take flight or risk breaking.</p>
<p>He looked at her in time to see her quickly flick her eyes away from him again. He shouldn’t be thinking these things, but the more they rattled around in his brain, the more his murky feelings morphed into something he could see with startling clarity like a developing photograph.</p>
<p>He was startled out of his musing by the pounding feet and panting breathing of his son as Tim hurtled over to them and grabbed his arm to help himself skid to a stop. He was red-faced and grinning widely and Patrick could not be happier to see sullen little boy of the past year disappear further into distant memory.</p>
<p>“We want to play five-a-side but we’re one short.” He panted, looking expectantly from his father, to Fred, to Jack. Patrick held back a laugh at Fred’s eagerness to detach himself from Jack and gently push the lad in Timothy’s direction who barely spared the three adults a glance before they were rushing back to join their friends in their game.</p>
<p>“Well,” Fred blew out a long breath and reached up to wipe his brow, “time for a cup of tea I reckon.” He turned on his heel and began strolling up the hill to the convent, whistling under his breath as he went.</p>
<p>Patrick pushed his hands into his pockets and turned to glance at Sister Bernadette, “Sister?” Her head tipped ever so slightly in his direction to indicate she was listening, even as her eyes never strayed from the group of children playing in the street, “How about it?”</p>
<p>He saw her release a long, controlled breath and the small, lopsided smile returned to her lips as she turned to face him, “I couldn’t agree more.”</p>
<p>“Wonderful.” He swept his arm towards Nonnatus, inviting her to take the lead. She paused after a few feet and waited for him to fall into step with her.</p>
<p>“How goes the practicing?” She asked him conversationally as they made their way slowly towards the steps of Nonnatus.</p>
<p>“Not much better than Fred, I’m afraid.” He chuckled and glanced over his shoulder towards Timothy. “Timothy may want to find a different partner next year, the three-legged race is a young man’s game.”</p>
<p>“Oh, I’m sure that’s not the case.” She looked at him out of the corner of her eyes but her voice betrayed her amusement.</p>
<p>“You didn’t happen to see me stumbling over like an utter fool did you, Sister?” He narrowed his eyes questioningly at her, completely unsurprised when the corner of her lips quirked and she guiltily looked away.</p>
<p>“I may have, yes.” Patrick’s groan at her admission quickly turned into laughter. He couldn’t help it, not when he could see her shoulders quivering underneath the dark fabric of her habit and her gentle snorts as she tried to suppress her own giggles. She bit her lip and looked up at him, her cheeks rosy and her eyes shining merrily. “It could be worse, Doctor, you could have both ended up in a heap.”</p>
<p>“There’s time yet, Sister.” He grinned at her. He must have surprised her with his response because she quickly looked away from him and choked another laugh before practically jogging up the steps to the convent’s door. She pushed it open and held it wide for him in invitation.</p>
<p>His breath caught at the image of her standing there, leaning elegantly against it’s edge as she waited for him to catch up. The warm summer sun was at just the perfect angle to work it’s way between the awkward angles of the surrounding buildings to catch upon her face, illuminating her pale skin. The picture before him made an image of her frame itself within his mind; an image of her smiling gently at him as she stands in the doorway of their house as she waves him off for another day at work, her hair loose and flowing around her shoulders, her face aglow with happiness and pride. An impossible dream, he thought sadly.</p>
<p>She must have caught the pensiveness that had started to creep onto his face because she knitted her brows gently and stepped forward, her head tilted, “Doctor?”</p>
<p>He forced a smile back onto his face and waved her off, nodding his head in the direction of the kitchen, “Let’s see how Fred is doing with that tea shall we?” He waited her for her to close the door behind him before gesturing for him to go ahead of him again. She gave him an odd look but otherwise complied, leading the way to the kitchen where Fred was stood over the stove waiting for the kettle to boil.</p>
<p>He glanced up as they approached and reached for two more teacups, “Thought you two had gotten lost.” He laughed at his own joke and set the cups gently onto saucers. He avoided glancing over at Sister Bernadette as he took a seat at the table and steepled his fingers on the wooden surface.</p>
<p>Sister Bernadette shook her head and went to Fred’s side, lightly flapping her hands at him to shoo him away from the stove. He backed away and slid into a chair beside Patrick, shuffling until he apparently found a comfortable position on his perch.</p>
<p>Patrick watched as Sister Bernadette bustled around the kitchen, searching several cabinets before eventually pulling out a tin of what appeared to be biscuits and arranging some onto a plate. She deposited them on the table in front of him before bustling back to collect a small bowl of sugar and a jug of milk and doing the same with them. Within moments three cups of tea joined them and she was making herself comfortable across from him and Fred.</p>
<p>He murmured his thanks and reached for his teacup and pulling the dark steaming liquid closer to him. She smiled at him in acknowledgement and did the same with her own. He smiled at himself as he watched her turn to encourage Fred to take a biscuit he had been eyeing since she had set them down. It was so very ordinary, to be drinking tea and eating biscuits, and yet he found he appreciated it all the more because it was with her, and if these friendly conversations were to be the sum of their relationship, would take the time to appreciate every moment that much more.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>I have no excuses. I mentally blocked for two months. Welp.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0018"><h2>18. Eighteen</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The annual Poplar summer fete had gotten off to a grand start. Timothy had been practically vibrating with excitement when they had arrived, dragging Patrick between the different stalls and activities with an exuberance that had Patrick smiling helplessly to the point he didn’t mind embarrassing himself with his poor performance on the coconut shie or the ring toss. It wasn’t often that he was able to take a day away from work to enjoy himself with his son in the warm summer sun and as he watched Timothy lick up the last traces of his melting ninety-nine from his sticky fingers he thought that maybe he should make the time more often.</p>
<p>“Are you sure you don’t want to have a go at the maypole before your performance, Tim?” He asked his son, watching as the boy rolled his eyes and glanced warily at the group of girls who were weaving around each with their ribbons.</p>
<p>“The maypole is for <em>girls</em>, Dad.” He grumbled, speaking slowly as though Patrick were being particularly dim.</p>
<p>Patrick slid his hands into his pockets and rocked back on his heels, “I’ll assume that’s a ‘no’ then.” He grinned at Timothy’s glare and raised his hands in surrender, “In that case you’d best go and get ready.” The words had barely left his mouth before Tim was scampering off towards the staging area where a growing number of Cubs were gathering.</p>
<p>Patrick took the opportunity to properly survey his surroundings; taking in the familiar faces that were milling about outside the Parish Hall. A few of them smiled and raised their hands in greeting as they caught his eyes and he reflexively returned the gestures. He was still smiling when his eyes landed on two figures on the other side of the square surrounded by children and his breath caught in his throat.</p>
<p>Sister Monica Joan appeared to be busy weaving a tall-tale to her enthralled audience, her hands waving animatedly and drawing gasps of joy from the children while to the side of her stood Sister Bernadette, her face a picture of serenity as she watched her elder Sister in Christ do what she did best. He watched as a little girl offered something to the young Sister and she leaned forward to take it without hesitation. Moments later the air surrounding the group was filled with iridescent bubbles and the delighted giggles of the smallest children as Sister Bernadette blew gently on the plastic wand the girl had handed to her. Sister Monica Joan clapped along with the children as Sister Bernadette carefully coaxed more bubbles from the plastic and he could do nothing but watch, entirely fascinated by her every movement.</p>
<p>Damn him for being such a lovesick fool.</p>
<p>The moment was broken by Fred’s voice echoing over the square as he announced the imminent start of <em>Robin Hood</em>. Sister Bernadette handed the bubble wand back to it’s owner and carefully lead Sister Monica Joan through the crowds towards the stage. He waited for them to take their place in the audience before he worked his way closer to the front, ensuring that she would not be in his line of sight, if only to save himself from missing the play with his distraction.</p>
<p>The play was going to be a roaring success, if not for the acting itself than for the enthusiasm the boys put into their performances, each of them projecting a wild sense of fun as they threw themselves around the stage during the musical numbers. It was during one such number that Patrick felt an urgent hand touch his arm and Nurse Lee appeared in front of him, she looked pale and tense and Patrick knew immediately that something bad had happened. The notion was quickly confirmed when she whispered that he was needed urgently at the home of Nora Harding. He gave one sorrowful glance at the stage where Timothy was pretending to swoon at Jack before he followed her away from the stage.</p>
<p>The young nurse waited until they were sufficiently far enough away from the crowds before she began to fill him in on what she and Sister Julienne had found. Once she was finished, the young Nurse stopped at the first phonebox she saw to call for an ambulance and promised to catch up with him as quickly as possible. With every step he took the happy and contented feeling that had settled within him at the fete was banished further away and his trepidation only grew as he climbed the stairs of the all-but abandoned apartment complex and let himself into the Harding’s flat.</p>
<p>He found Sister Julienne crouched beside Mrs Harding, a damp cloth in her hand that she was gently pressing against Nora’s pale, sweaty brow. He only needed a brief glance at the woman to confirm Nurse Lee’s suspicions that the poor woman had acted out of desperation and was now suffering the consequences. There wasn’t much that he could do for her here that the Sister had not already taken upon herself.</p>
<p>“We need to get her to the hospital as quickly as possible.” He murmured as Sister Julienne moved out of the way so that he could bend over the woman and gently press the back of his hand against her forehead. “Haemorrhaging and a raging infection.”</p>
<p>Beside him, Sister Julienne sighed heavily and said a quick prayer under her breath and he heard the clatter of high heels echo through the small flat.</p>
<p>“An ambulance is on it’s way, Doctor.” Nurse Lee interjected, breathing hard as she entered the room. He didn’t look at her but nodded his head to indicate that he had heard her. Instead he retrieved the damp cloth from Sister Julienne’s hands and pressed it back to Nora’s head.</p>
<p>“The best we can do is keep her comfortable until it arrives.” Without his medical bag he felt helpless.</p>
<p>The three of them sat in relative silence but for the soft whimpering of Mrs Harding and the occasional trickle of water in the sink when Nurse Lee ran the cloth under the tap to make it cooler. Patrick stood well out of the way but kept a watchful eye on his patient, allowing Sister Julienne room to kneel beside the bed while she comforted Nora. It wasn’t long before the silence was interrupted by the familiar sounds of the ambulance and it’s crew arriving and they all released a collective sigh of relief as Nora was efficiently lifted onto a stretcher and taken away.</p>
<p>Sister Julienne peered at him apologetically, “I am sorry we had to pull you away from the fete, Doctor.”</p>
<p>Patrick took his cigarette case out of his pocket and busied himself with pulling out and lighting one. He took a long drag and released it slowly before replying.</p>
<p>“It couldn’t be helped,” he said, glancing at the pile of bloody towels that sat on the floor beside the bed. “I apologise, but I must get back to Timothy.”</p>
<p>Sister Julienne smiled softly, “Yes of course, thank you, Doctor.”</p>
<p>He bid his colleagues farewell and wearily began to make his way back towards the fete. In all likelihood in addition to missing the end of <em>Robin Hood</em> he had probably missed the three-legged race. He sighed and scrubbed a hand over his face. Timothy would be so disappointed, he had been looking forward to it for weeks. What he wouldn’t give to be able to be in two places at once.</p>
<p>He could hear the excited buzzing of voices the nearer he got to the square where the fete was being held. Unconsciously he sped up his pace until he was pushing his way through the crowd to see what event had drawn everyone’s attention. His chest tightened and his heart began to race as his eyes landed on his son, his arm looped up and gripping onto the shoulder of none other than Sister Bernadette as they waited for the starting pistol of the three-legged race to be fired. They both had looks of pure excitement on their faces that only amplified as the race began.</p>
<p>Patrick, in his own excitement, found himself pushing through the crowds so he could run beside them, shouting encouragements over the sounds of the cheering and laughter. He thought his heart might explode with pride as the pair pulled into the front only to stumble and fall to their knees as they crossed over the finish line, though the glowing happiness never left their faces.</p>
<p>“We won!” He heard Sister Bernadette exclaim as he hurried over and knelt in front of the pair just in time to catch Timothy as he attempted to dash off to claim his prize before detaching himself from the Sister.</p>
<p>“Timothy, you can’t go anywhere, now hold still.” He scolded his son gently, reaching automatically to untie the green ribbon that looped around Timothy and Sister Bernadette’s ankles before stopping short as Sister Bernadette made to do the same. He pulled his hand away and glanced at her, smiling apologetically at his fumble.</p>
<p>As she deftly pulled the knot loose and released Timothy from his bonds, he noticed that she was absent her glasses. Finding them sitting just to his right, close to where the young nun had landed, he picked them up and held them out to her.</p>
<p>She took them from him with a grateful smile and brought herself up to a full stand as she slid them back onto her nose, “Thank you, Doctor.”</p>
<p>The movement of her hands in front of her face caught his attention, as did the dark splash of crimson that marred the side of her palm, “You’ve hurt your hand.” He said dumbly, indicating to her left hand.</p>
<p>She paused and turned her hand over, quickly inspecting the damage. “Oh, well, I’m sure there’s no need to amputate,” she quipped, though he could hear the surprise in her voice, as if she hadn’t even noticed she had been injured. “If you’ll excuse me.” She turned quickly on her heel, barely glancing at him as she made her way towards the Parish Hall.</p>
<p>He watched her walk away for a moment, reflexively rubbing his thumb and forefinger together as he contemplated following her. He quickly cast his eyes around looking for Timothy and found him seemingly recounting his victory to his friends. He wasn’t needed here, it appeared, so he gave in to the urge to follow after the nun.</p>
<p>It didn’t take him long to find her leaning against the sink in the kitchen, her injured hand under the cold stream of water.</p>
<p>“Would you like me to have a look at that?” He asked calmly, though he felt his heart begin to stumble as he watched the water turn pink after coming into contact with her hand.</p>
<p>She startled and turned to face him, pulling her hand from beneath the water as she did so. She looked from the graze on her palm to him, “Yes.” She replied, holding her hand out for him to see as he stepped closer to her.</p>
<p>Gently, as if she were a frightened deer, he cupped his hand under hers, not able to ignore the tremble he felt as he touched her. The cold of the water had chilled her skin and he found himself unconsciously holding her hand just that little bit tighter, imagining the warmth of his hand seeping into her own. He allowed the fingertips of his free hand to trace softly over her fingers, mapping the shape of her hand and committing it to memory as he lightly swept it past the area she had grazed.</p>
<p>She was watching the path his fingers took and he could feel the shallow puffs of her breath on their hands. They had been in a situation like this before, only now he felt the deep wave of his feelings for her pushing him forward and so, ever so slowly, he leaned forward and pressed his lips softly to her injured palm.</p>
<p>Her sharp intake of breath and the feeling of her hand being pulled from his crushed him and he immediately regretted his overstepping.</p>
<p>“<em>I’m sorry</em>.” He pulled his hand away from her and pressed it close to his chest. “That was unforgivable” He clenched his hand into a fist above his thunderously beating heart. He could still feel her hand beneath his.</p>
<p>Her downcast eyes shielded her emotions from him but he could hear her breathing stuttering as she cupped the hand he had kissed with her uninjured one. She didn’t meet his eyes as she replied quietly, “Who is it who decides what is forgivable and unforgivable?”</p>
<p>“I think you know that better than I do.” She glanced up at him then and he could see the glimmer of unshed tears in her eyes, the sight alone was enough to make him want to fall to his knees and beg her forgiveness.</p>
<p>He only wished that things could be different, that he could speak freely with her and tell her how much she meant to him, how much his world had narrowed to just wanting to see her smile at him one more time or to hear her laugh and sing whenever he wished without the oppressive cloud of guilt that smothered him. To be able to tell her, without reservation, how much he loved her. He closed his eyes tightly and let his head fall forward in shame. How could she ever forgive him for this?</p>
<p>He stood like that for a long moment before the feeling of her soft fingertips against his chin shocked him, he hadn’t even heard her move. He opened his eyes to see her smiling sadly at him, tears tracing slow paths down her cheeks.</p>
<p>“I only know,” she took a deep breath and brought her eyes to hold his fully, “that I can’t turn you away because it hurts me too much to.” Her words turned to sobs as she spoke, sounding more conflicted than he had ever heard her before.</p>
<p>Placing his hands on her upper arms, he pulled her into his embrace and held her, allowing his jaw to rest on top of her head. He breathed out long and slow, savouring the moment as her arms wrapped themselves around his waist and gripped him tightly. He had waited <em>so long</em> for this.</p>
<p>He could feel the gentle shivers that shook her form as he held her. He held her tighter for the briefest moment, but allowed the moment to come to an end, as all moments do. He pulled back and cupped the sides of her jaw with both of his hands to gently guide her head forward so he could lean down to press his lips to her forehead just below her wimple. He closed his eyes tightly as she released a shuddering breath and drew her hands up to cover his, her cool fingers lacing with his and squeezing his tightly before she pulled away from his embrace and slipped past him, leaving his heart both full to bursting and aching in her absence.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>This is my way of apologising for being absent for 2 months :')</p>
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<a name="section0019"><h2>19. Nineteen</h2></a>
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    <p>Sister Bernadette stirred her tea slowly, gazing absently into the dark liquid as it swirled within the china cup. The days had passed agonisingly slowly since the fete and she felt the ghost sensation of his lips against her forehead and the skin of her palm whenever she closed her eyes, heard his voice so clearly it was as though he were standing right beside her. It almost didn’t seem real. Everything around her seemed almost as though it were blanketed in a foggy haze and that she was a ghost cast adrift, unable to truly feel or see anything that was around her.</p><p>The cut on her palm was the only thing that felt real to her. She had caught herself absent-mindedly running her fingertips across it whenever her hands were idle. The memories of his lips brushing across her skin whenever she touched the raised scar the only thing that served to remind her that it <em>had</em> happened. It wasn’t a figment of her imagination conjured up in her dreams as an unconscious outlet for the increasing pressure of feelings that was building inside her.</p><p><em>She had confessed to him</em>. She couldn’t wrap her mind around it. She should have turned him away, left immediately and sought the refuge of her sisters, and yet she hadn’t. She had seen the pain in his eyes when she had pulled her hand away from him, the sense of loss she had felt when she had stepped away from him had been clearly reflected in his eyes. It was that agony that had convinced her that he felt as she did, that had convinced her to cast off her burdens and accept him.</p><p>She hadn’t seen him since the fete, though she thought that was not unusual with how busy their professions made them, and if she were honest with herself she was glad. She had so much to consider.</p><p>She startled when she felt a gentle hand press against her shoulder, her spoon clattering against the delicate china of the cup. Glancing up she found Trixie watching her, her eyebrows furrowed in concern.</p><p>“Are you alright, Sister?” She pulled her hand away and moved to settle across the table from her.</p><p>Sister Bernadette followed her movements and gave her a small, hopefully convincing smile, as the blonde nurse leaned forward slightly across the table. She made a small noise of affirmation and pulled her teacup to her lips and took a quick sip. It was cold.</p><p>Trixie watched her movements like a hawk and waited until she had set her teacup back on it’s saucer before speaking again.</p><p>“It’s just you’ve seemed awfully distracted lately,” she paused and raised a perfectly manicured eyebrow, “and you’ve been stirring that cup of tea since I was last in here nearly ten minutes ago.” She finished gently.</p><p>Sister Bernadette felt her eyes widen slightly in surprise. She couldn’t even remember Trixie being in the room before just now, not that she had noticed her entrance this time around either, and she was positive she had only just made the cup of tea. She looked down at the offending beverage and pushed it away.</p><p>“Oh.” She replied quietly.</p><p>Trixie smiled softly and reached forward to squeeze her hand gently, “Oh.” Her voice was warm and sympathetic and Sister Bernadette felt her eyes begin to well with tears almost immediately. She turned her face away from Trixie and closed her eyes tightly, silently begging the tears not to fall. She felt Trixie’s hand leave hers shortly before she heard the scrape of her chair against the floor which was quickly followed by the feeling of Trixie’s hands grasping her shoulders and gently pulling her towards her.</p><p>“Come on, Sweetie,” she murmured softly, causing Sister Bernadette to almost lose her composure and release a sob. Trixie had never called her that before, had only ever referred to her by her religious name or title. “Let’s go somewhere more private.”</p><p>Sister Bernadette could do nothing but pull herself out of her chair and follow the nurse through the halls of the convent until they reached the door to her cell. Trixie paused at the door and quickly looked at her for permission before she pushed it open and ushered her inside. Sister Bernadette walked automatically to the edge of her bed and felt all the energy in her body dissipate at once, causing her to bonelessly sink onto the stiff mattress, her hands clasped loosely in her lap. She was rather thankful that Trixie had had the presence of mind to bring her back to her own room rather than the room the nurse occupied, she didn’t think she would have the energy to move if that had been the case.</p><p>Trixie quickly pushed the door closed behind them and moved to drag the armchair from across the room to the side of the bed before perching on the edge of it and covering Sister Bernadette’s hands with her own.</p><p>“What’s wrong, Sister?” She dipped her head slightly to catch Sister Bernadette’s downcast eyes, “You’ve not been yourself for weeks, we’re all rather worried about you, you know.”</p><p>“I feel so,” Sister Bernadette paused and took a deep, shuddering breath and released it slowly as Trixie’s warm, blue eyes examined her face carefully, “I feel so out of place. Like I don’t really <em>belong </em>here anymore.”</p><p>Sister Bernadette bit her lower lip and pulled one of her hands free from Trixie’s gentle grasp to reach up and swipe away an errant tear.</p><p>“We’ve all felt like that from time to time.” Trixie sighed sympathetically and squeezed the hand she still held just that little bit tighter. “Heavens knows I certainly have, nursing school felt positively foreign.” She gave a small laugh and smiled warmly at the nun sat in front of her.</p><p>“And yet here you are.” Sister Bernadette replied.</p><p>Trixie smiled wider and nodded, “Here I am.” Trixie watched her silently for a long moment before speaking again. “What’s happened, Sister? You’ve been so happy here for so long.”</p><p>Sister Bernadette felt another tear escape the confines of her eyelashes. When Sister Monica Joan had recited Alexander Pope and the secret love of Eloise and Abelard she had felt icy tendrils of fear worm their way around her chest and squeeze tightly. Why had Sister Monica Joan chosen <em>that</em> passage in particular? Was it possible that the elderly sister had guessed what was plaguing her? Sister Monica Joan could be particularly observant when she wished to be, it was not outside the realm of possibility that she had put together the pieces of the puzzle and the mere thought had been enough to make her hide herself away in the chapel and pray until Sister Julienne had sought her out. The thought of telling Trixie about her growing dissatisfaction with her life and her feelings for Doctor Turner filled her with a wild sense of dread and guilt, the same sensations she had felt when she had been trying to explain to Sister Julienne. How could she explain to them what she was feeling when she couldn’t fully explain it to herself?</p><p>At the feeling of Trixie’s slender fingers squeezing her own she realised she had been silent for too long. The smile the young nurse had been wearing had faded back to concern and Sister Bernadette was sorry that she had been the one to cause those feelings in her friend.</p><p>“It’s alright,” Trixie paused and gave her a small, understanding smile, “if you feel uncomfortable with the idea of telling me you don’t need to.”</p><p>“Oh Trixie, no.” Sister Bernadette raised her eyes to Trixie’s felt herself floundering, grasping desperately for words that seemed to escape her. “It’s not that at all, I-” She stopped abruptly when Trixie made a sympathetic placating sound and released her hands so she could dip into the pocket of her uniform dress and quickly withdrew a handkerchief.</p><p>“You’ve become so used to pushing it away, to not talking about it that you no longer know <em>how </em>to talk about it.” Trixie said quietly with no trace of judgment in her voice, pressing the handkerchief into Sister Bernadette’s hands. Sister Bernadette stared down at the neatly pressed square of fabric and watched as her vision slowly blurred with the tears that gathered in her eyes. She delicately dabbed the fabric under her eyes and gave Trixie what she hoped was a grateful look. Trixie smiled wanly in return. “Magic hankie. Chummy has been something of a lasting influence.” The nurse shrugged.</p><p>Sister Bernadette choked a small sobbing laugh at Trixie’s choice of words, drawing a wider smile out of the blonde woman. No doubt making her laugh, however small it was, had been Trixie’s intention and she was thankful for it. She was always astounded at how much of an insight into other people’s feelings Trixie always seemed to have; another thing to be grateful for, she supposed. She would not need to unburden herself of her deepest, darkest secrets for the nurse to understand what she was feeling. The idea should have frightened her but it didn’t. Instead she nodded in answer to Trixie’s statement and folded her hands together in her lap.</p><p>Trixie sighed and mirrored her nod, giving her a long appraising look that made Sister Bernadette feel as though the nurse could see right through her. She felt her cheeks redden and quickly dipped her head to refocus her gaze onto the handkerchief in her hands.</p><p>“What do you do when you feel as though your life is falling apart and you can no longer recognise yourself within it.” Her words were spoken so quietly, she wasn’t sure if Trixie had heard them. She wasn’t sure she <em>wanted </em>Trixie to hear them. Long moments passed before she heard Trixie’s reply come in an equally quiet, melancholic tone.</p><p>“You hold tightly to the people you love, they are the sunlight under the clouds.”</p><p>Sister Bernadette looked up in surprise. Trixie smiled sadly at the young nun and Sister Bernadette could see the hidden depth of experience and wisdom wrought from a past anguish that she knew Trixie worked hard to cover with a cloak of charm and joviality.</p><p>“It may not seem like it now, but everything will fall into place and all will be right again.” The blonde reached forward and quickly squeezed Sister Bernadette’s hands one last time before pushing herself out of her seat and sweeping over to the door, pausing briefly at the threshold “And if you can’t talk to me now, please know that we <em>love you</em> and we are here for you whenever you find that you are ready.” She finished with one last encouraging smile before she closed it behind her, leaving Sister Bernadette alone with her thoughts.</p>
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